


Truth and Consequences

by Judith Proctor (Watervole)



Series: Price to Pay [2]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, Asgard, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Gen, Humor, Jaffa rebellion, Tok'ra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-04
Updated: 2012-05-15
Packaged: 2017-11-04 20:10:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 70,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/397746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Watervole/pseuds/Judith%20Proctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <img/>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This novel is a sequel to 'The Price to Pay' and it will only make sense if you read the other novel first.</p>
<p>Everyone has an agenda.  The rebel Jaffa want freedom.  The Asgard are playing a double game.  Lord Yu has his own inscrutable plans.  President Kinsey has ambitions too.</p>
<p>Amongst all these schemes, how are O'Neill and Sunlight going to find each other again?  Can Sam, Daniel and Teal'c help?</p>
<p>Can Maybourne stay alive?</p>
<p>Can Cassandra stay sane after losing everyone she loves?</p>
<p>Can Kantele help his friends when he has problems of his own?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Loss

**Author's Note:**

> Writing this sequel presented several interesting problems. Seasons 6 and 7 for starters. Although this novel is AU and set around the end of season 5, later seasons present some background information that I had to choose whether or not to incorporate into the story background. I've tried to be consistent with later episodes where possible, in the details of Jaffa and Tok'ra culture, etc.. However, where a later season flatly contradicts continuity from earlier seasons, I'm sticking with earlier seasons. This is particularly relevant to Jack and Kantele. When Selmak joined Jacob, he warned Jacob that he couldn't just jump into his body, cure his cancer and leave again. Similarly, Jolinar said that she could leave Sam, but only at the risk of her own life. In other words, a Tok'ra cannot take a host and casually move on again: it's a union for life and can only be severed by risking the life of both host and symbiote.
> 
> In the same vein, Teal'c cannot sense the presence of Goa'uld. This was clearly the case in early episodes such as 'The Enemy Within' and 'In The Line of Duty', and I'm just ignoring stuff written by certain later writers (eg. The Tomb) who couldn't be bothered to actually watch the previous episodes of the series they were writing for.
> 
> Having a symbiote die inside you causes the release of a toxin which can be dangerous for the host and potentially fatal without good medical care. Here, I'm going with 'In the Line of Duty', 'Crossroads' and 'Summit' (and the implications of what happened to Teal'c's father in 'Fair Game') and ignoring 'Nightwalkers'.
> 
> Goa'uld larvae take 6-7 years to mature. They may be able to take a host (with imperfect control) when a little younger than this, but there is no way they are ready much before that. (ie. forget 'Nightwalkers' again, but remember 'The Enemy Within') Rya'c would be dead by now if they matured any faster, as he has Teal'c's original symbiote.
> 
> Jaffa have no choice but to take a symbiote when they reach puberty. Early episodes were ambiguous on this score, but later ones are clear cut.
> 
> Cassandra presented another problem. I wrote her as sixteen in 'The Price to Pay' because that's how old she looked on screen in 'Rites of Passage'. When I finally got to see a DVD with better picture quality it was possible to count the candles on her birthday cake. There were fourteen. However, in 'Holiday', Daniel says that Cassandra was twelve when she came to Earth. That would fit perfectly with her being sixteen in 'Rites of Passage'. Indeed, in '1969' (at the end of season 2) O'Neill specifically states that Cassandra is thirteen at that point. Spoken confirmation O'Neill and Daniel counts buckets more points than a set-dresser who didn't know the back-story (Maybe Sam ran out of candles...) Cassandra is officially sixteen in this novel. (I just got the trading cards. They say she's sixteen too)
> 
> Languages. People on other planets appear to speak English, as the episodes would be awfully boring and three times as long if they had to show it every time O'Neill asked Daniel "What did he say?". In this novel, I'm following the same convention if Daniel (or Teal'c, if the language is Goa'uld) is around. If no translator is present, then characters may have to cope with alien languages in the raw. (My thanks to Calle Dybedahl for occasional assistance with 'Asgard'. For anyone who's interested, I use Swedish as it seems an appropriate language.)
> 
> The Asgard Treaty. The Asgard treaty with the Goa'uld limits the technological development of protected planets ('Fair Game') and prohibits the Asgard from artificially advancing the technological level of such worlds ('Red Sky') - they would only be allowed to introduce technology if the Goa'uld made a direct attack in violation of the treaty (as is stated in 'Fail Safe'). In other words, following my usual rule, ignore the 6th season episode 'Disclosure' in this regard (unless you want to assume that the Asgard were deliberately breaking the treaty, or that Anubis's actions in 'Fail Safe' had rendered the treaty void).
> 
> Lord Yu. The series has a couple of glaring continuity errors concerning Lord Yu. I've had a lot of fun in showing that they all really make perfect sense. And I got to read a lot of interesting Chinese culture and history in the process.
> 
> Thanks to all those who said how much they enjoyed 'The Price to Pay' and then said: 'I want to read the sequel'. This zine is dedicated to them.
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks go to Kathryn Andersen for co-authorship of the SGC filk written by Kantele (the original song is by Flanders and Swann). Thanks also go to Kathryn for the lovely cover.
> 
> Thanks to Murray Smith for assistance with questions regarding American law and to Linda Melnick for help with American idioms and to Deborah Rose and all the other people who've allowed me to bounce ideas off them at one point or another.

"Morning, Colonel. How's your little girl?"

      "Fine." O'Neill tried to keep the rough edge from his voice, only partly succeeded.

      "I've got a kid that age myself." Johnson's voice softened, as he glanced down at the computer screen to verify O'Neill's fingerprints. "I've got a couple of photos."

      What the hell was the point of endlessly checking his fingerprints? Every damn day.

      "Don't you know my face by now, Lieutenant?" He bent forward over the desk, face close to Johnson's. "Look. Same mug, same grey hair, same scar."

      Johnson looked up in surprise, his skin looking too white under the harsh lighting of the SGC checkpoint. "Colonel? You know the routine."

      He knew the routine. Hell, he'd helped Hammond set up half of it. And the right alien could walk straight through it - unchallenged.

      "How do you know I'm even human?"

      Johnson tapped the screen. "Your fingerprints match. Even a holographic projection wouldn't have your fingerprint ridges."

      "And if I'm Goa'uld?"

      "Sir, there are no Goa'uld on Earth. That's your job downstairs. You keep the Goa'uld from coming through the Stargate; we stop the spies, conspiracy freaks and other nutcases from getting into the SGC."

       _What would happen, if I made your eyes glow?_ Kantele asked, with interest.

       _You want us to end up in a military prison for the next ten years? You don't officially exist._

      "Think about Seth," O'Neill said roughly. "He hid out on Earth for millennia."

      Johnson stared straight in front of him. "Yes, Sir."

       _Bet he's wondering which side of bed you got out of this morning._

       _Would you rather have seen his family photos?_

       _No._ Kantele winced. _Would it help if I..._

       _Maybe._

      For a moment, Sunlight was there, lightly holding his hand. He could feel her love for him; and it was the simplest and most natural thing in the world to swing her up into the air, toss her high and hear her laugh as she fell down back into his arms.

       _Somehow,_ O'Neill vowed, _we'll get her back._

      Memories of former hosts flitted through Kantele's mind, each coloured with the friendship of decades or even centuries, each associated with the eventual pain of loss. O'Neill got the message.

       _I don't believe in_ 'impossible'. If it takes twenty years, we'll find some way to make the Asgard part with her.

       _And for now?_

       _We try and pass for normal. Know any good ways of forgetting the most important thing in your life?_

      

Teal'c's fist jabbed hard, giving O'Neill's ribs a serious blow. Catching his balance, O'Neill feinted left, then followed through with a right uppercut. Teal'c jerked back, but not fast enough: the punch connected and sent him flying across the mat.

      O'Neill punched the air in joy. "Yes! Fly like a butterfly, sting like a bee."

      Having a symbiote definitely had one plus to it. The only time he'd ever previously managed to beat Teal'c was when Anise had given them those alien armbands.

      Teal'c rubbed at his jaw. "You do not resemble a butterfly."

       **"I have wings,"** Kantele interjected.

      "I have seen a butterfly; you do not resemble one."

      "Picky," O'Neill said. "Knock it off kids."

       **"Who're you calling kids? We're both older than you are."**

       O'Neill gave up. "The first sign of insanity," he muttered, "is talking to yourself." He looked hopefully at Teal'c. "Fancy another round?"

      "I believe," Teal'c said carefully, "that you have an appointment to see General Hammond at ten. And after that, if you remember, Kantele has expressed a desire to discuss Jaffa music with me."

      It could have been worse. He could have had a symbiote that was into archaeology.

       _There's some pretty neat temples on P37-X03..._

       _You want I should ask Hammond if we can go and see them?_

       _On second thoughts..._

      

He showered leisurely, revelling in the feel of the water against his skin, still high from the buzz the workout had given him. He didn't feel tired, and the places where Teal'c had managed to hit him were hardly hurting at all.

      "Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream."

      Showers sort of lent themselves to song, probably something to do with the acoustics, or more likely the fact that the noise of the shower helped hide the flat notes from anyone else.

      "Row, row, row your boat."

      That had to be Teal'c. His deeper voice added extra harmonics. Now if Carter and Daniel were here, they'd have enough people to take all parts of the round. "Merrily, merrily-"

      He halted abruptly.

       _Kantele! Stop it._

       _Stop what?_

       _You're making me do things._

       _Don't tell me you've never sung in the shower before?_

       _That's not the point._

       _Jack, I'm not controlling you, but I can't help it if I influence you - that's inevitable. You pick up on my emotions and mental patterns. I enjoy music. You started singing, but you stopped as soon as you wanted to._

       _I don't like 'influence'._

       _Your problem is that you've had too many people walking through your mind._

       _So I'm paranoid?_

       _Listen, pal, you've had alien diseases that have made radical changes to your personality; you've been subjected to mind-altering drugs on numerous occasions, had your memory wiped and altered at least twice. You've had alien knowledge downloaded into your head, been trapped in a virtual-reality scenario, and had a chip with a personality stuck in your brain. Apart from those minor details, you're perfectly normal..._

       _Ya think?_

       _Let's just say you're a teeny bit sensitive on the subject._

      He finished his shower in silence, trying to keep himself as mentally isolated as possible. As long as he didn't think about Kantele, he could almost believe the symbiote wasn't there, but when he was _trying_ not to think about something he could never get it out of his mind. And once he was thinking about Kantele, he could sense his emotions. Right now, he was getting 'kicked puppy' feelings.

      Damn it, he was not going to apologise. Kantele had known the deal when he came on board. Well, okay, he probably hadn't. Not really.

      Looking back over the last five years, it was incredible that any of SG-1 were still sane. They'd all found their own ways of coping. Teal'c had his meditation; Daniel had grown harder - that was good, though he kind of missed the old Daniel with his perennial enthusiasm and naïvety. Carter was incredibly resilient; maybe she coped as he did by forgetting as much of it all as possible. But she wasn't him: she was warm and bright and part of his sanity; as all four of them were all part of one another's sanity. They'd survived because they were a team - and now they weren't a team any longer.

       _Do you blame me for that?_

       _Will you **stop** eavesdropping!_

      Kicked puppy. No mistaking it.

       _I can't stop. It's what I am. I see the world through your eyes. I hear the thoughts in your mind. I can only stop by becoming completely dormant, or by taking you over._

       _Kantele..._ It was the closest he could get to an apology.

       _You owe me a dessert. Okay?_

      Funny how fast you fell into some habits. It had only taken them two days to agree to alternate on choosing meals. Their tastes were similar, but not identical; Kantele definitely had a sweet tooth.

      Speaking of food, he wanted something to nibble; there was just about time to grab a snack before seeing Hammond.

       _You're eating for two now._

       _Hey, no pregnancy jokes!_

      That set off a chain of thought that led all too quickly back to Sunlight and he couldn't cope with that, not at work, not without cracking up. For Sunlight's sake, he had to bury her in a safe corner of his heart, because if there was a way to help her, it would be found here and nowhere else.

       _Tunafish or ham and cheese?_ asked Kantele.

      

      

Hammond's office was a retreat into safe territory, but even known territory had its dangers: the very familiarity could lure you into a false sense of security. It would have been easy to assume that he was home and safe here, but was the SGC still home? Was there a place here for a Tok'ra? Did he still have a job? The uncertainty was making him edgy.

       _Me too._

      Hammond gestured. "Jack, take a seat."

      On the whole, he'd rather have stood, but this wasn't the time to argue. He sat.

      "It's been just over a week now; how are you settling down?"

      "Pretty well, Sir."

       _Are we?_

       _Look, we're in this together; we stick together._

      Dressed in a crisp, short-sleeved shirt, Hammond looked confident and decisive. His appearance conveyed what he was - in command. Casual in his blue utilities, O'Neill could just about remember the days when he'd actually shown up for work in his class A uniform. Hammond and he had very different styles, and the combination worked. Hammond could deal with the organisation and the politics and the bits O'Neill hated. O'Neill was a field officer and he knew without any false modesty that he was a damn good one. As long as he could continue to work in the field, he'd be all right.

      Hammond was uncharacteristically silent for a moment, then began: "Colonel, I've read your unofficial report. It leaves me with a number of problems, some of which I can only take the blame for myself. I knew what you were doing and I allowed it to happen..."

      Had he thought Hammond looked confident? Now he looked for the strain and found it in the tension across Hammond's shoulders and the stillness of his posture.

      "General-"

      "Colonel. I authorised your expedition. I knew you were planning to take Maybourne. So help me, I even approved. He killed a prisoner. In cold blood."

      "Sir." The admission was hard, but justice required it. "I nearly knifed the General myself, when I realised what he'd done."

      "I know. It was in your report. That still doesn't excuse it. If Maybourne was here now, I'd have him on charge for murder."

      O'Neill was silent. There were things in his own past that he preferred to forget. You did things on special ops that were best left unmentioned. The rules were different there, and by and large he preferred them as they were now. Yet there was always that between himself and Maybourne, they both knew that there was another side to the rules and they'd both played on that other side.

      Even Kantele wasn't too sure about that part of him.

      "That's not the least of it," Hammond said. "I have to explain where Sunlight went. That might just about be possible if I didn't also have to explain where Kantele came from. Would you mind telling me how I can explain your symbiote without mentioning the fact that your daughter didn't come from where you claimed she came from and, in addition, the fact that Maybourne, a wanted criminal, was involved?"

       _Hammond's an honest man,_ Kantele said.

       _And we're forcing him into a position where he has to be dishonest._

       _We've had more practice at it than he has._

       _Speak for yourself._

       **"Sir, send SG-1 on a mission with Jacob Carter. I believe he's trying to contact any remaining Tok'ra. If he finds a Tok'ra whose host is dying, someone would have to volunteer."**

      "And people would believe that Jack willingly became a host?" Hammond's scepticism was clear. 

       _I resent that,_ Kantele said.

       _You twisted my arm and you know it._

       _Do you really regret it?_

      He gave a mental shrug.

       **"Jack's got an incurable disease. He could catch it next time he goes through the Gate."**

      "I'm not sure even that would be enough to persuade Colonel O'Neill to accept a symbiote."

      A cartoon mouse crept round behind Hammond, placed a large black sphere labelled 'bomb' under his chair and prepared to press the detonator.

      "General," O'Neill said, "I chose to do this. Under any other circumstance, I'd rather have been dead than a host, but it's happened so get used to it. You're pissing off Kantele."

      Hammond's look was measured in seconds. Finally he said: "Colonel, if Maybourne hadn't made that video with the lie detector, I'd have clapped the pair of you in irons for the rest of your respective lives." He moved his head slightly. "Kantele, my apologies. Welcome to the SGC."

       **"Hey,"** Kantele sounded a little uncomfortable, **"you're only doing your job. We haven't exactly made it easy for you."**

      Jerry looked for somewhere else to roll his bomb; O'Neill offered a bust of Senator Kinsey which was accepted and exploded with glee into a cloud of plaster dust.

      "You'll go to P3W-924," Hammond said. "Jacob Carter will ask you to go with him. We'll sort out the details later, but you'll be discussing Ma'challo's work with a Tok'ra who has been studying it."

      "SG-1?"

      "Will be off-world under the command of Major Carter, while you recover from flu."

      He'd hoped for a last mission together, but it had to be faced. He couldn't have both Kantele and SG-1; the military chain of command didn't allow for two minds in a CO's body. Besides, he'd already burnt his bridges. He took a deep breath.

      "They'll be off-world without me in any case, because I'm resigning my position as leader of SG-1 owing to recent personal developments between myself and Major Carter."

      "Jack," Hammond said seriously, "she couldn't have found a better man."

       **"Ahem."**

      Hammond looked up sharply, then suddenly smiled.

      "Does Sam realise what she's let herself in for?"

      Oh, she knew. Sam knew, because she was carrying the emotional burden for all three of them. She knew, because she was there when he couldn't sleep at night, when he wanted to sit in a corner, clutching a photograph, and shut out the entire world. First Charlie and now Sunlight.

      Once there had been Sara struggling to get through to him and desperately needing them to be able to share their grief. He'd lost Sara because he hadn't been able to break past his own barriers to give her what she needed.

      Kantele's Jacob had made the same mistake. He'd been unable to share his feelings of loss and guilt with Sam when her mother died in a car accident. The resulting breach between them had lasted nearly two years and had been the primary reason why that Sam had decided not to follow her father into the Air Force.

      Neither of them could afford for a similar mistake to happen again.

      Hard though it was to show weakness to anyone; hard though it was to see her hurting with his pain; he'd given Sam the pain, the loss, and the damning sense of despair of just not knowing.

      Where was Sunlight?

      What was happening to her?

      Why wasn't there anything he could do?


	2. In a Strange Country

The bed was wet. Again.

      Maybourne sighed inwardly and sat up on the edge, trying to avoid the worst of the damp patch. The Asgard might make comfortable mattresses, but that didn't stop the aforementioned mattresses getting soggy and smelly after being peed on by a small child in the middle of the night.

      Silently, he recited the mantra. _She wets the bed because she's frightened. Shouting at her will only make her more afraid._ He'd lost his temper yesterday. Sunlight had had a tantrum and he'd had one right back at her. It had been nearly an hour before she'd edged her way over to him and pleaded silently for a cuddle. He shrugged mentally. Where else could she go? Come to that, where else could he go?

      "Harry?"

      "Morning, Princess." It might have been morning. He no longer paid any attention to his watch, only continued to wear it from force of habit. There was no reason for the Asgard ship to be in the same time zone as Colorado, or even to have the same length of day.

      "I'm sorry," she said tentatively, looking down at the dark stain on the bed.

      "It doesn't matter." He wrapped an arm around her. "Shower?"

      Sunlight nodded; she wasn't much into long conversations. He figured that was probably a bad sign, hadn't the faintest idea what to do about it - why didn't children come with manuals? It had only been the second night when Sunlight had started sneaking into his bed. He'd tried to discourage her, had finally given in when he realised that it was the only way she could get to sleep without crying.

      She looped her arms around his neck, a sure-fire indication that she wanted to be carried.

      "You're heavy," he protested.

      "Am not."

      And she wasn't as heavy as she ought to be. Even to Maybourne's inexperienced eye, she looked thin, probably because she'd hardly eaten anything for the last five days. What passed for food with the Asgard might be nutritionally balanced, but it tasted like crap. He could force it down himself; the mustard-flavoured ones were almost edible, but Sunlight had to be coaxed to eat even a single tablet.

      He sighed, and picked her up. At least the shower had real water and some kind of showergel. Familiarity was always helpful where Sunlight was concerned, even though a sonic shower or some more arcane alien device might have been more interesting from his own point of view. What was frustrating was the lack of privacy. Sunlight refused to let him out of her sight; even closing the door of the shower was too much. Everyone else in the kid's life had vanished, he guessed she was afraid he'd go too if she didn't keep close. Washing her was okay; he didn't mind doing that, but damn it...

      "Sunlight, if I leave the door open, will you turn your back? Please?"

      She considered that for a long moment, then nodded and slowly turned away.

      Hastily, Maybourne turned his back on her, just in case, stripped off his boxers and scrubbed himself down in one of the fastest showers of his life.

      He checked over his shoulder before turning back again.

      "Sunlight. What did I say?"

      "I wasn't looking."

      Did children lie automatically, or was she just picking it up from him by some osmotic process?

      He slipped his boxers back on, accepting that they were going to get wet while he washed Sunlight. The air blast would dry off some of it and he could get changed later. He wasn't entirely sure whose underwear supply he'd been donated, but he gained minor amusement from assuming some of it to be O'Neill's.

      "Your turn," he said to Sunlight.

      He was sure she could wash herself, but when he asked her to, she just stood there silently and did nothing. Let the psychologists worry over that one; the bottom line was that when the bed was wet they both ended up smelling somewhat less than sweet and he had to do something about it. Besides, her hair needed washing. And how the hell did you do that without getting the gel in her eyes? He'd tested it on himself yesterday. It seemed to do an okay job on the hair, but it stung if you got it in your eyes.

      He'd been mad to take this on. Stark staring mad. On the other hand, the alternative hadn't had much going for it - being executed at dawn was pretty near the bottom of his list of ambitions, just a single point above being tortured to death.

      Hell, who was he kidding? She was Jack's child and he'd do the best he could by her; he just wasn't at all sure that his best was going to be good enough.

      

      Finally, dried and dressed, they settled down to breakfast. As Asgard recliners didn't fit well to human bodies, they'd taken to eating on the floor. It might have given a picnic atmosphere to the proceedings, except that neither of them felt even fractionally inclined in that direction. The whole room, cell, call it what you pleased, was inherently depressing, functionalism taken to extremes. Three dull grey walls and a force wall facing an empty corridor did nothing to inspire the mind, the furniture was minimalist and although food materialised at regular intervals, even as dirty bedding and laundry disappeared, it still came out worse than the cell he'd occupied on Earth. At least that had had a TV set.

      Maybourne chewed on a brown tablet that made him think of dog biscuits. Sunlight just sat and stared at hers.

      "Try a little bit. It's not as bad as you think."

      "Is."

      "Isn't."

      He'd managed to make her laugh yesterday by pulling faces and falling into an 'Is, Isn't' routine, but it wasn't going to work today.

      "Story," she said.

      "If I tell you a story, will you eat it?"

      "Promise."

      He'd already learned to be chary of her promises; Sunlight had a very flexible memory as to what had actually been promised.

      "Blue, did you hear that?" He reached out a hand and nodded the bear's head. "See, Teddy Blue knows now, so you've got to keep the promise."

      She looked suspiciously at the bear as though it had betrayed her. Blue was her main confidant, the repository of secrets that she chose not to share with Maybourne. 

      "My story."

      Maybourne winced. It was the tale she asked for most often and he was already heartily fed up of it. He kept adding new bits to it, just to relieve the tedium.

      "Once upon a time, there was a king. He was noble and wise, almost boringly so-"

      "No, he wasn't."

      "Wasn't noble and wise?"

      "Wasn't boring."

      "Okay, he was noble and wise and kind and generous and everyone loved him. Happy?"

      His audience nodded, Teddy Blue with a little assistance from Sunlight.

      "The King had a wife and a daughter." He allowed his voice to become more serious. "He loved them both very very much and they were the most important people in the world to him.

      "The King was a friend to the fairies and he used to visit their lands and talk to them. But the kingdom also had an enemy, terrible monsters who wanted to destroy the king and all his people. The Grand Vizier-"

      "What's a Grand Vizier?"

      "I don't know. Some kind of important govenment minister. Anyway, the Vizier was powerful and he and the King disagreed about what should be done with regard to the monsters and the fairies."

      "He was a baddie," Sunlight said.

      "No, he wasn't. He wanted to protect the kingdom just as much as the King did. The fairies had lots of magic weapons, things that would help kill the monsters, but they wouldn't share them with the King. They promised to defend the kingdom, but the Grand Vizier couldn't help wondering if the fairies really meant their promises. After all, if they really wanted to help, why didn't they share their magic?

      "So, the Grand Vizier went and stole some magic from the fairies. This made the fairies angry and they withdrew their protection from the kingdom. One of the monsters took her chance and attacked. Her name was Nirrti and she was a very very nasty monster. The King had once set her free in exchange for the life of the Princess's friend-"

      Sunlight perked up. "Cassie!"

      "Yes. Cassie." Even saying the name hurt. He missed her more than he would have thought possible: the solid warmth of her in his arms, the subtle fragrance of the skin at the back of her neck. Did Cassie really understand... Perhaps. Save that thought for dreams. Maybe not even then, or there'd be more than one wet spot on the bed to explain away.

      "Anyway, the monster cast a magic spell that made everyone fall ill. People started dying. The Queen died and the King wept for her." It was odd how you fell into a slightly more archaic language pattern when telling stories, as though to give a new story a fake patina of age. "Then the Princess fell ill. Everyone who loved the Princess was terribly upset by this because she was a very pretty princess and everyone loved her." And how come the good guys always got to be the good-looking ones?

      "Grandpa," prompted Sunlight.

      "The Princess's Grandpa had a guardian angel and he gave his angel to the Princess to make her better, but everyone else was still dying. The King went to the fairies and pleaded with them for help, but they were adamant. The price for their help was the most precious thing in his kingdom - the Princess."

      "And you."

      "And me," he agreed.

      "Because you were naughty."

      "Will you cut that?"

      "Stealing's wrong," Sunlight said with self-righteous virtue.

      "All right, it was wrong," he agreed with poor grace and half a dozen mental caveats. "Now do you want me to finish the story or not?"

      For a miracle, she was silent. Had he really been concerned that she was too quiet? Maybe execution wasn't such a bad option after all...

      "The King pleaded with them to accept anything else - he would far rather they had taken him than his beloved daughter - but in the end, he had no choice. He sent his daughter to live with the fairies and part of the Grand Vizier's punishment was that he had to look after the Princess."

      "That's not what you said yesterday."

      "What did I say yesterday?"

      "They wouldn't shoot him, if he was good and looked after her."

       _Jack, if I didn't know she was your daughter before, I'd know it now because she's every bit as irritating._

      "Have it your way. The Princess gave her guardian angel to the King, so that he wouldn't be lonely on his own, and nobody lived happily ever after at all. But at least everyone was cured of the plague." _I hope. Did the Asgard keep their end of the deal? Is Thor or anyone else ever going to come calling or are we going to be kept alone here for the rest of our respective lives?_

      "Now eat your breakfast."

      "Teddy Blue's eaten it for me; he was hungry."

      He looked at Teddy Blue. Blue stared back with a glassy, unwinking eye. He had soft velvety fur of a deep sapphire colour and a thin gold chain around his neck with a tiny heart dangling from it. Not that Maybourne was any expert, but Blue didn't look quite the kind of bear you'd give to a young child. That chain would be too easy to snap. The bear looked more like... Ah, it was obvious when you looked for it. He was slightly surprised that he hadn't noticed days ago - he was slipping and that was a bad sign. The bear had a very obvious seam down the front, it obviously opened into a velcro-edged pouch that would allow a small birthday present such as a bottle of perfume or a watch to be hidden inside it.

      And what was in the pouch now? He didn't even bother looking. The only real question was whether it was just one meal or several.

      Maybourne looked directly at the point where he'd have placed a hidden camera.

      "Thor," he said with deliberate slowness, "you're killing her."

      

      

"Maybourne speaks your name," Heimdahl said with interest.

      Thor half-turned to the hologram beside him. "I doubted O'Neill's wisdom in this matter, but now I believe he may have chosen wisely."

      "He actually requested that his enemy care for his child? Why did he not ask for her to be fostered on one of the protected worlds?"

      Thor had wondered about that himself. It would have been safer than living aboard _Bifrost_. With part of his attention, he studied the figures that scrolled across the screen in front of him: a readout of the condition of the High Fleet. The fleet was seriously below strength; aiding Earth had cost them dearly. Pulling ships from the front line of the fight against the Replicators had weakened the defence, costing them two planets with valuable resources and a number of smaller ships with their crew. All the intelligence he had to hand showed the same thing: the Aesir were losing the fight. They might hold out for years yet, but losing their main supply of trinium seriously impacted on their warship production capabilities. He had gambled much to save the humans, possibly too much, and yet he couldn't entirely regret it.

      Thor looked again at the screen. Maybourne had his back to Sunlight now; he was doing something with pencil and paper.

      "There is a relationship," Thor said, "of some nature that I do not yet comprehend."

      "I do not see anything complicated," Heimdahl replied. "If O'Neill's request is accepted by the Council, then Maybourne will live as long as the child needs him. It is natural for him to protect her life under those circumstances."

      "Watch."

      Maybourne completed his writing, folded the paper neatly in four, glanced at Sunlight who was staring blankly at a wall, and placed it by the edge of the force screen across the entrance of the cell. He moved to sit beside her on the floor and stared at the wall with her.

      "What's he doing?" Heimdahl asked.

      "I don't know. Humans tend to be unpredictable."

      Maybourne cocked his head towards Sunlight. "Did you hear that?"

      "I didn't hear anything," she said.

      "Over there - maybe something moved?" He turned to look at the paper. "That wasn't there before."

      "What is it?"

      "I don't know. Can you go and get it for me?"

      Sunlight picked the paper up and unfolded it. "It's a letter." She turned it over in her hands. "Who wrote it?"

      Maybourne took it from her and glanced at it. "Hey!" He smiled in well-simulated surprise. "It's from your dad."

      Heimdahl looked thoughtful. "He deceives her, but he deceives her for a reason."

      Thor nodded. "She will eat now."

      "He could have forced her to eat."

      "As I said, there is a relationship."

      Heimdahl's eyes were alive with excitement. "There is no genetic link between the two?"

      "None."

      "He has no children of his own?"

      "I do not believe so."

      Now Heimdahl was almost dancing on the tips of his toes. "Yet he is deducing her needs and responding to them."

      "More than that," Thor replied. "He is teaching her. See, he is showing her the letters of their writing and trying to demonstrate the connection between the symbols and the sounds."

      "How long will it take her to acquire knowledge by this method?"

      "Many years. Even decades."

      "It is very ineffecient," Heimdahl said with noticeably reduced enthusiasm.

      "But it is the source of their flexibility. Their young know nothing for certain. They learn through trial and error. I have watched her draw. She does not even reproduce the correct number of fingers."

      "Whereas we know everything, and lack mental as well as genetic variety."

      

"Daniel?"

      He looked up from his desk to see Jack standing in the doorway.

      "Jack. What can I do for you?"

      "I wondered, well, that is, Kantele-"

       **"Have you got any musical instruments lying around? Teal'c promised to fill me on on the last couple of hundred years of Jaffa music, and it's easier if I have something I can pick out a tune on."**

      There were a few things lying around his office, probably more in the storerooms waiting to be fully catalogued. He ran a quick mental inventory: several drums from P3Z-834; a couple of bone flutes primarily of interest for the symbolism of the carving on them; a set of tubular bells from the Land of Light; a stringed instrument that bore a passing resemblance to a violin with too many strings, and another that was more like a guitar.

      While rooting them out, he asked: "You realise the significance of song in Jaffa culture?"

       **"Of course."**

      "And it is?" Jack asked, sounding slightly irritated, followed by, "Oh, I see."

      It was so automatic to give Jack the lecture, that he carried on anyway while searching in various drawers for the flutes. "The Goa'uld control most of their subject populations by forbidding them to read and write. You remember how the natives on Abydos reacted when I first sketched Gate symbols for them?"

      "Yeah. They acted as though you'd done something really dangerous."

      He pulled the drums down off a high shelf and blew a small cloud of dust off the skins. "And it's like that among most of the Jaffa. Only the high-ranking ones like Teal'c are allowed to learn to read. They need it to operate ships and the like. Teal'c can read several dialects, but he learnt as an adult, not as a child."

       **"Which means they developed a strong oral tradition."**

      "He means they keep their history in the form of songs and stories," Jack said.

      "I knew that," Daniel said.

      "That's _my_ line."

      Daniel grinned in spite of himself. Symbiote or no symbiote, this was still the same Jack. He ranged the instruments along his desk. "Any of these any use to you?"

      Jack - or was it Kantele? - picked up each in turn and examined it. Things were tapped, twanged, turned upside-down, blown through and generally fiddled with. Watching the body language, he could sense the urge to play that always came over Jack when faced with any new and interesting object. These were toys, and two children sharing one body were exploring all the interesting things that could be done with them.

      "Have you got any water?" Jack asked.

      He filled a glass from the faucet, only to watch in surprise as Jack poured some of it onto the drum skin and rubbed it in. Jack glanced up at him. "Dampens the pitch. When the skin gets too dry, it gets tighter. This hasn't been played in a long time." He proceeded to rectify that particular deficit by tapping out a quick rhythm, then testing out the other drums, selecting a couple he liked and playing them as a set, first cautiously, then faster as he gained confidence. After a minute or two, he stopped and shook out his wrists. "It's a long time since I last did that."

      "You? Or Kantele?"

      Jack looked mildly embarrassed. "Me. When I was a student, my room mate played the bongos. I sort of got to pick them up after a while."

      He moved onto the guitar thingy and tweaked the pegs.

       **"You realise,"** Kantele said, **"I have absolutely no idea what key this is supposed to be in."**

      "Does it matter?" Daniel asked.

       **"Ha! Don't you realise that entire cultures can be traced by their use of musical techniques? Did you know that traditional Scottish music uses a pentatonic scale, or that Irish music is typically in the key of D?"**

      He was beginning to see what Kantele was driving at. "You're saying you could work out a culture's roots from its musical traditions. even if there were no written records?" It wasn't just the instrument or the words of the songs, the actual structure of the melody could also be important.

      Jack's right hand reached out and helped itself to a couple of apples and an orange from a bowl on the desk. Daniel watched his vanishing vitamins with a wary eye; Janet had been on at him to increase the amount of fruit in his diet, but if the worst came to the worst he could always get more from the canteen.

       **"Exactly,"** Kantele said. **"What does the instrument alone tell you? It's just an exercise in wood-carving. If you don't record the music, you've lost everything that matters."**

      An apple was tossed into the air, closely followed by the orange. The second apple travelled from Jack's right hand to his left in a fast transfer. For a moment, it looked as though he was going to fumble the first catch, but then he caught the rhythm and got the fruit juggling in a smooth pattern.

      "Jack?"

      "Yes?" The rhythm never faltered.

      "Are we boring you by any chance?"

      "I'm sure it's absolutely fascinating." Apple followed orange followed apple in a steady circle. "Are you doing anything this evening?"

      "As a matter of fact-"

      "I need you to help us with this Asgard translation business. Kantele can get by in the language, but he's no good at anything detailed."

      "Jack." Daniel held up a hand to forestall the inevitable protest. "I can't come tonight; I'm eating with Janet and Cassandra."

      The orange made a high pass, almost to the ceiling, came down with perfect control to rejoin its place in the cycle. "See them tomorrow."

      "I know how important this is to you," Daniel said. "But you have to accept it's not something we can solve overnight. If you're seriously willing to work at it for months on end" - his eyes followed the orange as it travelled from hand to hand - "then I can give up most of my evenings to work on it with you. I have to have some time to myself though. I have people I care about too."

      "Since when?"

      "Since what?"

      "Are you seeing Janet?"

      "Of course I'm seeing her. She invited me round for a meal this evening."

      "I mean 'seeing' seeing."

      "No. She's just been under a lot of strain since Cassandra's illness."

      "You _are_ seeing her."

      "Am not! You of all people should know that you can care for someone without sleeping with them."

      The orange hit the desk with a thud, rolled off and landed on the floor as Jack grabbed frantically for the apples and managed to prevent them following.

      "Since when?" Daniel asked.

      "Since what?"

      "Sam's been on holiday all week. It's usually a fight to get her to take any time off at all. When were you thinking of telling the rest of us?"

      Watching embarrassment steal over Jack's face was a novel experience. He tried hard to recall the last time he'd seen Jack caught with his fingers in the cookie jar.

      "I just told Hammond - I've resigned from SG-1, effective immediately."

      "And Teal'c and me?"

       **"They wanted to tell you together. They needed time."**

      He could imagine. "You wanted to tell me this evening?"

      Jack gave an awkward, half-embarrassed shrug. "Something like that. Sam's better at that kind of thing than I am. We didn't want to tell the whole world just yet."

      That he could understand. People would try and treat it as an excuse for a party and Jack wouldn't be able to handle that right now. An unpleasant thought struck him.

      "Jack. Hold off telling people as long as you can."

      "Because?"

      "Because some people will be nasty enough to assume that you pushed Sunlight off to her other relatives to make way for a woman who didn't want a stepdaughter."

      "Oh, for crying out loud."

      He put out a hand to steady Jack's shoulder. "Not everyone knows Sam the way you and I do. She's smart and that makes some people jealous. They won't admit she can be kind and loving as well."

       **"She's still getting used to the idea of a daughter."** Kantele sounded a little defensive. **"It's easier for her to love Cassandra, because she's known her for years. She had far less time with Sunlight than Jack did. All she really has are the stories I can tell her."**

      He hesitated, unsure of how to respond. If Jack had said that, a physical response would have been easy: a squeeze of the hand resting on Jack's shoulder or some other simple physical contact. Just how close was the relationship between symbiote and host? Did they share one another's emotions? Did they both feel the same about the physical body? Did they share the same sense of personal space? He tried to cover his uncertainty with a question:

      "How much is she like the Sam you knew?"

       **"She's more certain of herself, more confident. I think being in the Air Force has done that. Otherwise, she's still the same sweet Sam that her father and I loved. In fact, she's so much like her that-"**

      "That what?"

       **"Nothing. Forget it."**

      If it was just Jack he'd have tried to find out more, to see if it was a problem and if it was something he could help with. But then again, it was Jack - sort of...

      "Jack?"

      "Forget it."

      "If there's anything I can do to help..."

      Jack shook his head. "I'm not sure that anyone can help with this one."

      

      

There was a fairy standing at the other end of the room.

      Sunlight tugged at Harry's shoulder and he looked up from the book he was reading.

      "About time too," he said crossly, as he got to his feet and smoothed down his shirt. "Where the hell have you been?"

      Uncertain as to whether the fairy was dangerous or not; she took a step behind Harry to be on the safe side.

      He glanced down at her. "Don't worry, Princess, it's just a hologram." He stooped, picked up a pencil and tossed it. It went right through the fairy.

      "Do it again!"

      Harry passed her a eraser and with great daring, she threw it at the fairy. The fairy blinked as the eraser went through its tummy.

      "I am Heimdahl," it said in a funny high-pitched voice.

      Sunlight giggled.

      "Where's Thor?" said Harry.

      "I would be foolish of me to tell you that. You are an enemy of the Aesir."

      Harry shrugged. "I'd say our interests were pretty much the same. I want this ship and those on board to survive. Care to differ?"

      "I wish to ask you some questions," Heimdahl said.

      "You can ask," Harry said in the sort of voice grown ups used when they meant 'but I don't promise to answer them'.

      "Have you any previous experience in caring for children?"

      "I'm doing the best I can," he said, still cross. "She needs proper food for a start. She needs to get outside. And she needs to be able to play with other children."

      Heimdahl's eyes studied her. "You believe that she would be happier if she were to be adopted on one of the Protected Worlds?"

      Harry stood very stiff. "That's not what I said."

      "But it is what you believe?"

      "You're asking me to sign my own death warrant. I won't do that."

      The fairy vanished.

      "Why hasn't it got wings?" Sunlight asked.

      "Huh?"

      "Fairies have wings. And they're pretty."

      "Some other time." Harry want and sat down by the wall and buried his head in his arms. Then he said a naughty word. A few minutes later, he picked up his book and threw it at the invisible wall. It bounced back and fell the floor, pages fluttering. Harry said another naughty word and Sunlight took Teddy Blue and retreated under the bed where it was safer.

      

      Maybourne stared at the book where it had fallen. Macbeth wasn't such a bad tale when you got into it - Lady Macbeth being a ruthless manipulative liar - but he couldn't summon enough enthusiasm to go and pick it up. There wasn't any point. You could only face dying so many times before you gave up and abandoned the struggle to live _._ He was tired: tired of being conned into dangerous situations by Jack O'Neill, tired of trying to cope with an over-wrought child and tired to death of forever looking over his shoulder wondering if this would be the day that justice and the electric chair finally caught up with him.

      He stared into blankness until his foot developed pins and needles from being still for too long.

       _Giving up, Maybourne?_ he mocked himself _._ _Want to die among friends, Harry? Well, forget it. The only friend you have right now is hiding under the bed, because you've scared her again. So, what are you going to do? Mope about until they come for you? Come on, you know yourself better than that. There's always a trick somewhere; you just have to find it._

       _So - options: find a way out, or convince them you're indispensable._

       _Lock-picks, even if I had them, aren't much use on a force field. In the unlikely event that I find the apocryphal garbage chute, I'll either end up floating in space or trying to find my way around a ship that I don't know how to fly. Use Sunlight as a hostage? I'd have to find a way of convincing her it was a game so that she wouldn't be frightened. Besides, stun weapons make a nonsense of any hostage situation._

       _How can you make them believe you're indispensible? You speak Sunlight's native language; that's a point in your favour. You know her native culture. But that's only useful if they ever plan to return her home. Will they keep her until Jack dies? Will they keep her forever? Until she's adult? You need to know. Do they plan to integrate her into their own culture? If that's the case, they might teach her to use some of their technology \- that might give you both a long term chance of escape._

      A head peered out from under the bed. "I'm sorry," it said in a whisper.

      He held out an arm. "Sunlight, just because I'm mad doesn't mean it's your fault." _Just how often do I shout at her for her to make that automatic assumption?_ "Come here, I need you to help me think." _Assume they're watching. Make it look as good as you can._ He waited until she came to him, settled her on his lap, head resting quietly against his shoulder.

       _What do I do with you? I promised your father... Can I use that? It's not a legal obligation, so probably not. I can't claim you'll suffer enormous harm from losing me - we survive together, but I'm not your father and never will be._

      She was a warm weight against him. He ruffled his fingers through her hair, smoothed it back into place again. _Love her,_ Cassie had said, but it wasn't that easy. This place encouraged the fake. Keep Sunlight happy and you live. _So I keep her happy as much as I can. Does that mean I feel anything for her? How the hell should I know? Where is the line between pretence and reality?_

       _Did I really love Cassandra, or did I just pretend that too?_


	3. Rebels With a Cause

"I am perfectly okay." O'Neill glared at the removed thermometer as though it had had the temerity to bite him.

      Frasier glanced at the reading. She'd occasionally wondered if it were worth going over to the new in-the-ear thermometers, but the old-fashioned variety had the great advantage of forcing the patients to keep their mouths shut.

      She glared right back at him. "No you're not okay." A passing airman grinned, quickly covering up his reaction as she aimed the thermometer purposefully in his direction.

      "It's only a cold, and I'm almost over it anyway."

      Frasier replaced the thermometer on a tray on top of a trolley. "You of all people should know that it isn't _your_ state of health that I'm concerned about."

      "They're Jaffa," he protested weakly. "They can't catch anything from me."

      She passed clean thermometers to two members of SG-6 preparing for a visit to P3O-47Y, before turning back to him.

      "Colonel, there will be children there; Jaffa don't receive symbiotes until they reach puberty. You do _not_ have medical clearance to go on this mission."

      O'Neill threw up his hands in resignation.

      "You win, Doc. It'll do Carter good to be in command for once." His face took on a worried expression. "I don't have to stay here, do I? I'd go stir crazy."

      Cue General Hammond. Yes, there he was, coming through the infirmary door right on schedule.

      "What's up, Doc?" the General asked.

       _That_ wasn't in the script they'd agreed. Was he _trying_ to make her crack up? Had Colonel O'Neill put him up to that one? She assumed her frostiest expression. "I've declared Colonel O'Neill unfit to go off-world. You know we can't risk spreading our diseases to populations that may have no immunity to them."

      He knew, and she knew that he knew, but it never hurt to remind their audience. SG-6 were among the worst for trying to claim they were never ill. They were also inveterate gossips.

      Hammond looked thoughtful. "Is it anything serious."

      "No, Sir. If it weren't for the risk of infection, I'd be happy to let him go."

      The General nodded once, decisively. "Major Carter will negotiate with the rebel Jaffa. Jack, I'm sending you to P3W-924 with Jacob Carter. It's a dead world and Jacob is Tok'ra so there's no risk of you infecting anyone. We've just received a message purporting to be from Jacob Carter."

      "But he's here on base..." O'Neill was a better actor than she'd given him credit for.

      "Exactly. Jacob says the message has things that only he would know about, but if we're dealing with a duplicate I'd rather have you along as well. This Jacob Carter claims to be from a parallel reality and to have a translation of Ma'chello's notes."

      If ears could flap, Captain Roth and Lieutenant Morris would be in orbit by now. Hammond glanced at them as though seeing them for the first time. "Colonel, I'll brief you in my office in five minutes." 

      

      

The backlight of the event horizon cast flickering bright shadows on the faces of the Jaffa gathered in front of the Stargate, until the wormhole closed and restored skin tones to something closer to normal. This world's sun had a reddish tinge to its spectrum, but the planet was well within the habitable range. As Carter paused, surveying the rebel Jaffa encampment with its sprawl of tents, training grounds and workshops, Bra'tac stepped forward, grey cloak draped formally over one arm.

      "Teal'c. Major Carter. Daniel Jackson." The old Jaffa's eyes flicked to a point behind Daniel's head, as though expecting the wormhole to engage again. "Where is Colonel O'Neill?"

      And she'd thought being in command was going to be straightforward...

      "Er, Jack's-"

      She cut Daniel off with a quick eye contact. "Colonel O'Neill is indisposed. We didn't want to risk spreading any infection among your people."

      Bra'tac nodded. "That is appreciated. We have woman and children here."

      "I thought your women had symbiotes?" she said.

      "They do, but a woman cannot easily carry both the children of the gods and her own children." He laughed lightly. "You see how hard old habits die, Major?" Smile lines creased the pock-marks of his face, illuminating the wisdom of years. "A woman cannot carry the children of _false_ gods without the risk of miscarrying her own. The symbiote must go into a period of dormancy and so our women are at far greater risk of disease when pregnant."

      "Indeed," Teal'c said, with a trace of bitterness. "Shan'auc, as a priestess, was not allowed to marry - priestesses must remain forever celibate. The male and queen larvae must never be subservient to the needs of a mere Jaffa."

      So was that why Teal'c had married Drey'auc rather than Shan'auc? Given that Shan'auc was dead, it probably wasn't diplomatic to ask. Celibacy would be a pretty big deterrent. She stared into empty space for a moment. Everything was great between herself and Jack except that. He was affectionate, entertaining, understanding: everything a woman could wish for, except sex. Apart from that first night, their relationship remained completely platonic. She could understand his depression over losing Sunlight, but she had needs too. Had she made a mistake entering into a relationship with an older man? Sometimes, Jack felt more like her father than her lover.

      Bra'tac gestured them forward with a sweeping movement of his arm. "Come, I will take you to Kytano."

      As she walked beside him, Daniel said quietly, "Now we get to see if Kytano really does walk on water."

      "Why should he wish to do such a thing?" Bra'tac demanded.

      Daniel's face slipped into an 'oops' expression. "It's just a phrase," he said hurriedly. "From the way you described Kytano at the briefing session, he sounded like a miracle man."

      "He is a great warrior and a leader of men," Teal'c said seriously. "Who else among us can say that we have killed our god?"

      Carter's mind effortlessly supplied a picture of Jack waving a hand in the air. _We've_ _knocked off half a dozen or so._

      "Who was Imhotep anyway?" she asked. _Whoops, wrong question._ From the expression on his face, Daniel had obviously told her all that at the briefing session. It wasn't like her to forget, but there were so many things to remember when you were leading the mission.

      "Builder of the first step pyramid. A pretty minor Goa'uld as far as I've been able to determine. Still," he added, obviously determined to be fair, "it's a big step for any first prime to rebel against his god."

      Walking through the encampment, she listened carefully as Daniel gave her a running commentary. His cultural skills were invaluable in a situation such as this.

      "See over there-" he pointed to a wheelwright pounding a metal tyre onto a wooden rim "-that's a classic example of the dichotomy of Jaffa culture. Wooden wheels and death gliders - nothing inbetween. It's a classic Goa'uld tactic to restrict the development of subject cultures; we've never yet seen a Goa'uld-dominated culture that has been allowed to progress beyond Medieval level. They use the Jaffa, but they only teach them what they need to know to be able to fight and to serve their masters. Teal'c can fly a death glider, but he has no understanding of the principles that make them work. Bra'tac is a master of the staff weapon, but he couldn't make one."

      With a graceful movement, Bra'tac turned to Daniel. "You are wise, Daniel Jackson. You understand well how the Goa'uld enslave us. Will the Tau'ri aid us in these matters?"

      "That's one of the things we're here to discuss," Carter said carefully.

      "And you have brought weapons?"

      "Yes." The transport, long ago nicknamed 'Fred' by some airman with a sense of humour, had followed them through the Gate. "Supplies as well."

      Smells of roasting meat wafted over from a carcase being spit-roasted over an open fire. Beside the fire, a woman pounded away with a pestle, each thud emphasised by a beat in the song she was singing.

      "Classic division of labour," Daniel said. "It's more exaggerated here than in most traditional cultures. Jaffa men are all warriors - at least, all those with symbiotes are. Isn't that right, Teal'c?"

      "Indeed, Daniel Jackson. A male born without a pouch is obviously inferior. No woman would accept such a one as a mate. They perform menial tasks such as farming."

      "Which probably means that there are many men here who can hunt, but none who can produce food by other means. They'll be very dependent on supplies taken in raids and plants found by the women." 

      Bra'tac snorted dismisively. "Food production is for women and ho'tars."

      "What's a ho'tar?" Carter asked.

      "I'm guessing," Daniel said carefully, "that it's a pouchless Jaffa. I imagine it's a term of abuse."

      "They are none here," Teal'c said. "None of them would have the entrails to rebel against the System Lords."

      "Guts," she said, "not entrails," and wished that Jack was with them to share the joke.

      

      

A thin film of dust coated the horizontal surfaces in Machello's underground complex. O'Neill's flashlight caught strange shapes in its beam as he moved around renewing his mental image of the place. There had been ambient light when he'd been here a few years ago, but whatever controls operated it must no longer be functioning. The air was mustier than he recalled, with a lingering tang of oil. A stale dead place linking two worlds: a suitable limbo in which to meet a non-existent man from another reality.

      Working his way round methodically, he checked for any unanticipated danger. Most rooms had been stripped of their machines by the SGC, but supporting structures remained, as well as a strange construction of thin metal rings that had been too large to fit through the Gate. It loomed high overhead, casting odd shadows that slunk and grew on the wall behind. A child might see ghosts in such a place.

      Here and there, there were marks in the dust, scuffs and smudges.

      Bending down by a large machine, if indeed it was a machine and not just some wacky piece of abstract sculpture, he caught sight of something shining by reflected light.

      Two pink beads.

      He gripped them violently in his hand, nausea clutching his throat.

      "Jack?"

      He stared at Jacob, trying to bring the world back into focus. Adults could see ghosts too...

      "What's up?"

      Beyond speech, he held out the beads in the palm of his hand.

      "Beads?"

       **"From Sunlight's shoulder bag. I came this way with her."** A corner of O'Neill's mind noted that Kantele wasn't in much better condition than he was. **"She... It was... You gave it to her."** Shit, Kantele was in worse shape, getting hit on both fronts.

      He held out his arms. "Jake, if you take this the wrong way, I'll string you up from the yardarm."

      With commendable fortitude, Jacob embraced him. He could feel the relief flowing though his/Kantele's veins.

       **"Jacob..."**

      Jacob's arms were both support and comfort. "I'm guessing this isn't easy on either of you. Does it make it better or worse having me around?"

       **"Better."**

      "Worse."

      Jacob released him and sat down on the floor with his back against a giant cylinder. "So, tell me. We have to stay here long enough to achieve our fictitious objectives."

      "There's nothing to tell," O'Neill said hastily. He stayed standing, leaning against the pillar.

      "Sounds like a mighty big nothing to me." Jacob glanced up at the metal rings. "Is that...?"

       **"Yes. It moves you from one reality to the next. The controls are simple when you know how to operate them."**

      Jack's hand slid into his pocket to touch Maybourne's wallet. "I really ought to go through, but I don't think I can face it."

      Jacob raised an eyebrow.

      "I promised Maybourne... He wanted me to give something to Cassandra. I lost it." Somewhere, somehow, the piece of paper on which Maybourne had written his pin number had become separated from the wallet with the cards in it. Guilt gnawed at him. He'd memorised the IDC code that he'd agreed with Major Davis, but hadn't even looked at what Harry had written. "I owe her an apology, but seeing me again would probably cause her more stress than it's worth. In any case, it's not as if she and Maybourne really knew one another."

      "So why did he want to give her anything?" Jacob asked.

      "She was there and he knew he was going to die. Better her than let the banks keep it."

      "For what it's worth, I agree you shouldn't go through." Jacob half-held up a hand to forestall argument. "The risk of any trip between realities is simply too great. I'm surprised that anyone would build such a portal in the first place." ****

**"Ma'chello used it to talk to himself,"** Kantele said **. "Didn't you ever wonder how one man developed so much new technology? The two of them swopped ideas regularly, but never stayed in each other's reality long enough for entropic cascade failure to be a problem."**

      Jacob glanced at the rings again. "Wheras my fictional counterpart will die of that in combination with physical injuries?"

      "Yeah." O'Neill shrugged off Kantele's mental objection that the other Jacob had been very real. "He staggers in here after being shot at by hostiles who couldn't tell a Tok'ra from a Goa'uld. Doesn't dare go through into the SGC in case the Tok'ra IDC code was invalid. While we were deciding whether to come or not, the emetic cascade thingy took over. Kantele can't repair the other Jacob's physical injuries fast enough-"

       **"Diseases are much easier to handle. I'm okay because I don't exist in this reality. Jacob begs Jack, as his son-in-law, to take me so that I don't die when he dies."**

      "That bit still sucks," O'Neill said.

      "Act it convincingly, or come up with something better," Jacob said sharply.

      O'Neill shrugged. "I don't have a lot of choice."

      "And make sure Sam has enough sense to act surprised at you knowing things that I know."

      He stared at the floor, said nothing.

      "Jack?"

      Inconsequentially, he said, "It's traditional to ask your permission first. We kinda skipped that part." He scuffed the toe of his boot in the dust.

      "You and Sam?"

      "Yeah."

      "Is that what was bugging you before?"

      "No. It's you." He tapped his head. "In here."

      Jacob got to his feet and looked O'Neill in the eye. "Then you should know I'm glad for you both. She's loved you for a long time."

      "Yeah. And you've loved her."

      "But I don't..."

      "Exactly."

       **"Tok'ra don't have incest taboos,"** Kantele said, with complete lack of conviction. ****

**"But that is true,"** Selmak interjected. **"Hosts come from many diverse places; I have never heard of two being genetically related.** **As we are all children of Egeria, Tok'ra relationships are of necessity between siblings; but as our genetic identity is neuter, this is of no consequence."**

       "Neuter?" O'Neill asked, then picked the answer from Kantele's thought. "Oh. Birds and bees. We're birds, you're bees."

      Selmak nodded. **"Indeed. Humans have equal numbers of males and females. Goa'uld have few males, even fewer queens and large numbers of 'workers'."**

       **"The System Lords,"** Kantele said, **"are almost universally males such as Apophis, or queens such as Hathor. Neuters rarely have such a strong lust for power."**

      The subliminal awareness of Kantele wrapped around his spine had never been stronger. Tension etched itself onto his vertebrae.

       _You -_ he thought it silently, uncertain as to why he chose not to say it out loud - _you're male._

       _Oh yes,_ came back the confident thought, _I'm male._

      

      

Kytano's tent was no different from any of the others. In style, it looked functional, but not portable, a far cry from the small, lightweight tents used by the SG teams. But then, Carter reminded herself, the Jaffa were not commandos, whereas the SGC tried to have at least one person with commando training on each team. Versatility was the watchword of Stargate Command; the fortuitous combination of linguist/historian, scientist, commando and Jaffa that made up SG-1 had proven to be uniquely effective. Other SG teams were hard pressed to find men with Daniel's degree of knowledge and could never include Teal'c... Or could they? Teal'c's knowledge of Jaffa and Goa'uld culture had been invaluable on many occasions; perhaps one of the things to discuss with the rebel Jaffa in exchange for weapons and food/medical supplies should be the possibility of other Jaffa working with SG teams.

      As Bra'tac held aside the hanging for them to enter the tent, she saw a slim, dark-skinned Jaffa rise to his feet. His gold forehead tattoo resembled an upside-down step pyramid. Presumably Kytano. Beside Kytano, a teenager with a black serpent tattoo also rose. For a moment, she almost failed to recognise him in the poor light; he was a lot taller than when she'd last seen him.

      "Father," he said.

      "Rya'c, it is good to see you, my son." Teal'c didn't exactly smile, but you could still read the pleasure in his face. He gripped Rya'c by the shoulder. "You are working with Kytano?"

      "Yes, Father. I serve him to the best of my ability."

      Kytano beamed. "Your son does you credit. Bra'tac is teaching him the skills of a warrior and he learns well."

      Was there a hint of disquiet in Teal'c's face? It was hard to tell. Did Teal'c regret that he was able to spend so little time with his son? Should he have been the one to teach Rya'c to use a staff weapon? What was the normal custom of the Jaffa in that regard?

      Kytano looked from Teal'c to Carter and then to Daniel.

      "You are Colonel O'Neill?" he said to Daniel.

      "Jack's ill. Sam, uh, Major Carter is in command today."

      Kytano eyed her from top to toe with the kind of expression generally reserved for small rodents.

      "A female? You insult us by sending a female to negotiate?"

      "Major Carter is an experienced warrior," Teal'c said.

      "You were once First Prime of Apophis," Kytano said with scorn, "now you take orders from a woman?"

      Teal'c stared at the tent wall behind K'tano's head and said nothing.

      "We intend no insult," Daniel said hastily. "Our customs are different from yours."

      Customs be hanged. She was beginning to understand why Jack was frequently so intolerant of local traditions. You could waste days messing around trying to agree on the colour of the place mats. Then again, she often felt that Jack should be more sensitive where cultural values differed. Trying to impose modern American values on people with different heritages and traditions was morally wrong. _Okay, so admit it to yourself, Carter. You're be perfectly happy to go along with almost any custom as long as it doesn't affect you personally._

       _If you want to be treated as though you're in command, then act like it. Hammond gave you the job; you have to find a solution._

      She stood straight and looked Kytano in the eye. "We have brought weapons." The way to a man's heart wasn't cooking, it was ammunition.

      Kytano hesitated a bare fraction of a second before saying: "We will inspect your weapons."

      "There's food and medical supplies as well," Carter added, almost as an afterthought. Kytano would want them, but admitting to needing such non-macho items might cause him to lose face.

      As they made their way back to the Gate, she took in the sights and actions of the camp in greater detail. A couple of young women, dressed in brightly-coloured clothes, carried baskets of roots in from the surrounding woodland. Whistles and ribald comments greeted them as they passed a circular area in which two young men fought with wooden staff weapons.

      "How do the women know which plants are safe to eat?" she asked.

      It was Teal'c who replied. "The Goa'uld transported humans to many planets. There would be little point in doing this unless they brought suitable plant and animal species as well."

      "We're pretty certain that other cultures were seeded by the Ancients and the Asgard," Daniel added. "Not all colonies would have survived, but nearly all the worlds in the Gate network seem to have some flora or fauna that are useful to humans. Many plants have cultural significance as well as food value. "

      "Either that," Carter said, "or the Ancients were humanoid themselves and only built Gates to worlds where they could live."

      Daniel looked frustrated. "We've never found any pictorial representation of them. We've simply no idea what they looked like."

      Reaching _Fred_ , she stood for a second, anticipating the moment, then opened the lid of the first crate to reveal the weapons inside.

      Silence.

      "These are not real weapons," said a Jaffa beside her. Disappointment hung on Rya'c's face, as he took in the reactions of those around him.

      "We need proper weapons," Kytano said emphatically, "staff weapons, zat'nik'tels." He spun decisively on his heel.

      "These," Carter said, with equal emphasis, "are the weapons that have beaten Jaffa in combat. I see men here with the marks of Cronus, Apophis, Heru'ur and others. Ask them who won." The Colonel would have been proud of her.

      There were murmurs among the onlookers. Hard to say whether it was resentment at being reminded of old battles, or dislike of the weapons. Or, possibly, resentment of her personally. 

      "Teal'c, would you please demonstrate the use of the P-90?" She needed to gain face among these people, but right now so did Teal'c.

      Teal'c calmly lifted a P-90 and an ammunition clip out of the crate, Rya'c's eyes following him apprehensively.

      On the outskirts of the camp stood the firing range, a set of targets hanging from wooden frames. Teal'c chose his distance carefully from a trio of logs suspended vertically by ropes.

      "Bra'tac, how many targets will an experienced staff user hit from this distance?"

      The old Jaffa studied the targets. "One, perhaps two."

      Teal'c flashed a sudden brief manic grin and sprayed two seconds worth of bullets at the targets, sending all three logs swaying madly with the impact. Bra'tac clapped him on the shoulder. "Well done."

      Kytano was less easily impressed. "The weapon is wasteful of ammunition. We would all be dependent on the Tau'ri."

      "If the user is skilled," Teal'c said, "then the weapon may require only a single shot." He started to walk away from the target, paused when he had doubled the distance and turned to Carter.

      "Major Carter is skilled."

      You had to love that guy.

      She took the P-90 that Teal'c held out, hoping to heaven that the sights were set correctly. There had been a time when she first joined the SGC when she'd spent every spare minute on the firing range, so desperate had she been to prove herself the equal of any man there. But as she'd gradually come to feel accepted in her own right, she'd cut down to a less excessive level and used the time to develop her knowledge of alien science instead.

      As she raised the P-90 to her eye, she thought for a moment of Jack. She'd been with him two days ago, and they'd been playing some silly game. She couldn't even remember what it had been now except that it had involved free-wheeling word association and had had them both laughing. Afterwards, they'd settled down on the sofa, Jack listening to opera while she leaned against him and doodled on a pad of paper. Relaxed and energised at the same time, she'd jotted down random ideas until patterns started to emerge. Three-quarters of an hour later, she had found the answer to a problem in physics that had been bugging her all week.

      The log or the rope holding it up? Both were achievable at this range, but what if she missed? _Go for it, girl_ , said a warm voice in her heart. She squeezed off the shot and watched Kytano's surprise, with pleasure, as the log fell to the ground.

      He recovered quickly though.

      "Teal'c," he said, "I will negotiate with the Tau'ri reagarding these weapons, as soon as they send Colonel O'Neill. In the meantime, I would speak with you regarding matters of importance."

      Teal'c caught her eye and she gave him the slightest of nods by way of permission. One of them needed to be able to function freely here and there was no sense in letting pride stand in the way.

      

      

"Jack," Hammond asked, "what do you make of this?" He pushed a sheet of paper over his desk. "It's a transcript of a report Major Carter sent through the Gate an hour ago. She asked whether I wish to replace her on this mission."

      O'Neill scanned down the sheet, while Kantele helpfully created a mental image of a Jaffa (with a button labelled Kytano) swinging by his neck from the log-target stand.

      "Sir, would it cause a major diplomatic incident, if I just punched this Kytano character on the nose?"

      "Colonel..."

       _Jack, suppose we -_

      He grinned. _I like it_

      "Sir, Kantele formally requests permission to continue his studies of Jaffa folklore and music on PX-whatever it is."

       **"Naturally, we would be under the command of Major Carter and would not do anything without her permission."**

       Hammond looked thoughtful. "It could work. Even though you're no longer a member of SG-1, if you are seen to respect her command, then Kytano might fall into line."

      "That's the general idea. And if that fails..." He paused to catch the drift of Kantele's thought. "There's a Jaffa custom that allows a man to give a woman his full authority. It's rarely utilised in its full form, but Kantele knows of references to it being done."

       _I don't think she'd go for it, though,_ Kantele commented. _She's too independent to take an authority that only comes because you grant it._ __

_She might. I would have an equal right to speak on her behalf._

       _She might if it wasn't for..._

      O'Neill grimaced. _Whose fault is that?_

      "Jack?"

      "Scratch plan B. I don't think she'd marry us. Not yet, anyway." He picked up a model airplane from the desk and twisted it round and round in his hands. Hammond was mercifully silent.

       **"Something's odd about Kytano."**

      "What?" O'Neill was relieved by the change of subject, and talking out loud kept Hammond from thinking too much about what he'd just said.

       **"When I was last among the Jaffa, the ballad of Lady Jala was still well known."**

      "And that means?" Hammond asked.

       **"Listen. I'll borrow Jack's voice - it'll sound better."**

       O'Neill's fingers tapped the rhythm on the edge of the desk. ****

" _Ride, Lady, ride._

       _"With your warriors by your side,_

       _"You will ride to kill Lord Baal,_

       _"For you were Tenar's bride._ "

       **"That's just the chorus, but it should give you the general idea. Baal executed Jala's husband and she raised the Jaffa and rode against him. If he hadn't had a sarcophagus, he wouldn't be around to plague you now."**

      "It's possible the song's been forgotten," O'Neill said, "butDaniel always claims that the products of a culture reflect the values of that culture. If they could write a ballad about a woman leading men into battle, then a woman in command shouldn't be such an insult to a Jaffa."

      "I was under the impression that you never listened to Doctor Jackson," Hammond said.

      O'Neill looked at the aircraft in his hands, as though he'd forgotten it was there. "He makes sense sometimes."

      Hammond looked pointedly at the plane. O'Neill plonked it on a corner of the desk and sat upright.

      "So what you're saying," Hammond reached out and returned the plane to its original position, "is that Kytano isn't a typical example of Jaffa culture?"

      "He's probably been hanging around the Goa'uld too long, got hooked on all that lovely grubbing after power." O'Neill spread his hands wide. "Or else he's just a misogynistic bastard. In either case, is he really someone we want as any ally?"

      Hammond nodded decisively. "Kantele, Colonel O'Neill, you have a go to carry out research into Jaffa folklore."

      "Just don't tell Daniel; I'd never live it down."

      

      

"O'Neill." Bra'tac inclined his head in recognition, with no obvious indication of surprise. "I was led to believe that you were indisposed."

      O'Neill waved a hand in casual greeting from the top of the steps and came down to meet him. "Found a cure. Got better. Which kinda reminds me; I need to introduce you to a friend of mine."

      Bra'tac's eyes flicked to the Gate, as though expecting someone else to appear, then to the Jaffa by his side. "I am remiss," he said. "I have not introduced you to Rak'nor."

      "We've met." It didn't require Goa'uld genetic memory to remember Rak'nor, the blotted-out tattoo on his forehead was pretty distinctive. Besides, O'Neill tended to remember people who'd saved the life of one of his team; Teal'c had been in pretty hot water that time.

      Rak'nor bowed his head. "You are here to see Kytano?"

      "Nope. Here to study traditional Jaffa music." That was worth it, just for the look of surprise on Bra'tac's face. He wasn't sure if he'd _ever_ managed to score a point off the Jaffa Master. "Where's Major Carter?"

      "Major Carter and Daniel Jackson are talking to the women to determine our needs for foodstuffs, while they await the return of Teal'c."

      "So where's the big fellow off to?"

      "Kytano received news that Lord Yu is severely weakened after an attempt on his life by Osiris. Rebel Jaffa loyal to Kytano are seizing control of his ha'tak and bringing it here now. It is an ideal moment for an attack on his personal guard. His stargate will be unguarded and we have word that his Jaffa are eager to join the rebellion. Kytano awarded Teal'c the honour of leading the attack."

       _And Carter agreed to this?_ __

Kantele gave a mental shrug. _The Jaffa would view Teal'c's refusal as a sign of cowardice._

       _I think either Carter's bending over too far to avoid offending Kytano, or else Teal'c's trying to impress his son. I don't care much for either option. SG-1 should have gone together or not at all._

       _And why Teal'c rather than one of his own men?_

       _I don't know. But I do know that something smells._

      Bra'tac addressed the younger Jaffa. "Rak'nor, you will await Teal'c's return while I take Colonel O'Neill to Kytano."

      It would have been easy to underestimate Bra'tac, to dismiss him simply as the Jaffa who had been First Prime of Apophis before Teal'c, who had little education and no knowledge of anything beyond fighting. But that would be to ignore one hundred and thirty-seven years of experience and the razor-sharp mind that had trained Teal'c. In all likelihood, he'd already worked out part of what O'Neill wished to discuss with him.

      As they walked away from the Gate, O'Neill took in the forested surroundings: the pine trees and the low cloud that hung over them. He couldn't see the birds, but he could hear them all around. This was a beautiful world.

      "You must understand, O'Neill," Bra'tac began, "our ways are not your ways."

      "What about Lady Jala?"

      Bra'tac stopped dead in his tracks. "I was not aware that you were familiar with our history."

      "A little bird told me."

       _Bird?_ Kantele commented.

       _You gonna quibble over whether wings have scales or feathers?_

      Neither. They're an elegent membrane.

      Which makes you either a flying fish or a bat.

      He was getting the hang of this mental ping-pong now. Images and words mixed in together in a cheerful melange that would have driven lesser mortals 'batty'.

       _Ouch. Don't tell me I'm hitched up to a punster._

      He grinned inwardly. If there was one thing living with Kantele did, it was to keep you on your toes.

      "Colonel O'Neill?"

      He became aware that Bra'tac was staring at him.

      "Uh..."

      "You are concerned about Major Carter."

      "Carter can look after herself. My concern is whether you guys can recognise that. Now, you - you've worked with Carter. Culture shock, maybe, but I didn't see you having a big issue with it at the time. So what's with Kytano? Is it some Jaffa thing I've missed out on, or is the guy just a moron?"

       _Jack, you have the diplomatic subtlety of a bull in a china shop._

      "Okay," O'Neill ammended, "so he may not be a moron. But is he what he claims to be? I mean, would you know if he was still loyal to a System Lord?"

      Bra'tac strode forwards angrily. "You insult us."

      O'Neill grabbed him by the shoulder, spun him around. "When you did that rite of marshmallow on Teal'c, you said you could see into a man's heart, know if he told the truth. Try it now. Look at me."

      Bra'tac flung off his hand. "You dare mock-"

       _"-Look at me."_

      He stood still, feet slightly apart, hands by his side, away from his weapons. Waited.

      Bra'tac glared, then slowly placed his hands on O'Neill's shoulders, stared deep into his eyes. 

      "I see a good man. One who is ignorant, one who can be irritating, but essentially a good man." He paused, a slight frown creasing his forehead. "Do you believe the Goa'uld are gods?"

      "No."

       _No way._

      "Will you do all in your power to destroy them?"

      "You betcha." __

Ditto.

      Bra'tac's eyes bored deep. They stood unmoving as errant breezes tugged at Bra'tac's cape and at O'Neill's BDUs. Birds passed unheeded, their song wasted on the empty air. Finally, Bra'tac said:

      "You speak truth and it comes from your heart, but it is as though you speak with two hearts, not one."

      "Anything else?"

      The old Jaffa closed his eyes and steepled his fingers together in a way that reminded O'Neill of Teal'c's meditations. Sometimes, you could see the pupil in the master, in that calm serenity that most Jaffa simply didn't have. Or at least, O'Neill ammended mentally, not the ones he'd met.

       _It is only when they see past the Goa'uld, only when they seek a faith of their own... Then, they can become something more. They are the ones who seek Kheb: the ones who have found an inner wisdom and serenity._

      Bit like Buddhism? A religion with no god? Does that mean that if I gaze at my navel long enough, I'll go all mystical and be able to do kung fu?

      Bra'tac opened his eyes slowly and looked once more at O'Neill.

      "Shan'auc convinced me that a Jaffa may have some limited communication with the creature within him. This, I have never mastered nor desired to master - yet I sense that it is aware of you-" in one fluid motion, his staff weapon came up to point at O'Neill's chest "-or rather of the creature within you."

      "Yeah, well, remember there was someone I wanted you to meet?"

       **"Tek ma'tae, Master Bra'tac. I am Kantele of the Tok'ra."**

      Bra'tac stood firm. "I have heard of the Tok'ra; I have never met one."

       **"You said we spoke truth. Do you doubt your own wisdom?"**

      Bra'tac made the smallest of nods in acknowledgement. "Well spoken, Kantele of the Tok'ra." He tossed the staff weapon to his left hand and reached out for a firm, fore-arm clasp. "Tek ma'tek."

       **"Then will you look into the heart of Kytano? Judge him as you have judged us?"**

      Bra'tac looked doubtful. "It may not be as easy as you think. To do so would be a grave insult."

      Feet pounded down the gravel track behind them, each heavy step emphasising the length of the runner's stride. As they turned to look, they could hear the deep pants that dragged oxygen into demanding lungs.

      "Hey, Teal'c, what's-"

      Straight past, without even a pause, Teal'c ran, yelling, directly towards Kytano's tent.

      "Murderer! Traitor! Betrayer of our people!" 

      O'Neill and Bra'tac looked at one another with wild surmise and ran after him.

      

      The camp was in commotion as people dropped weapons and tools and came forward to see the cause of the uproar. Fires burned unattended and baskets of roots lay where they had been abandoned. Voices were raised, but none so loud as Teal'c's.

      "Kytano! Come forward. Show yourself to the people you have betrayed."

      Emerging from his tent, Kytano stood calm and collected.

      "What nonsense is this, Teal'c?"

      Teal'c faced him across the space that seemed to open up magically between them as people fell back.

      "Lord Yu knows of your deception, of how you turned against him and the System Lords."

      Kytano turned around slowly, raised his arms to the crowd. "I have deceived no one. I despise the System Lords and all they stand for. The ha'tak my Jaffa captured is just now entering the system. When it arrives all will become clear."

      "Lord Yu knows Kelmar is the location of this rebel army. He knows our numbers. He knows you have betrayed him. The System Lords merely bided their time to root out all rebel jaffa, so they may be crushed in one all-out attack. The mutiny aboard Lord Yu's ha'tak failed. It is coming here to destroy you all. The betrayer has been betrayed."

      Kytano smiled, condescending, and walked into the centre of the space. "Teal'c has been too long among the Tau'ri. He has forgotten what it means to be Jaffa."

      Something tingled up O'Neill's spine. Here, surrounded by Jaffa, he and Kantele had an awareness of each and every one of them, but Kytano was - different. Kytano turned, locked eyes with him.

      He touched Bra'tac on the shoulder and spoke quietly into his radio at the same time. "O'Neill to Major Carter. Kytano isn't Jaffa; he's Goa'uld. Trust me, it takes one to know one."

      The instant he released the PTT button, he heard Carter's voice. "Daniel, dial us out. Keep the wormhole open; if a ship is coming, they'll dial in to prevent us escaping."

      Even as she spoke, his eye caught a speck in the sky.

      "Jolma'sheku!" Teal'c shouted the word at Kytano.

       _Challenge of leadership,_ Kantele translated. _It's a fight to the death._

      Kytano raised a finger to point at O'Neill. "It is not I who has betrayed you. It is Teal'c. He has brought a Goa'uld among you. The Tau'ri who stands among you is Goa'uld."

      "I have challenged you, coward," Teal'c shouted. "Do you refuse my challenge?"

      The crowd was shifting, turning nasty. He was being pushed, jostled. Any moment now, things might break into open violence. He gripped the butt of his P-90 and shouted over the hubbub.

      "Kytano's a damn snakehead!"

      A kick landed on his shin. Someone else punched him in the ribs.

      The sharp sound of a gunshot cut across the scene. People froze, then fell back to give him breathing space.

      "Colonel, I've got your six," a calm voice said over the radio.

      He could shoot Kytano. It would be an easy shot now. But he couldn't do it for the same reason Carter hadn't. They'd never get out alive.

      Kytano smiled, calm and commanding among the chaos. "When Teal'c dies, you will follow him into the realms of the damned along with Major Carter." He reached out a hand for a practice staff weapon held by the aide beside him. Teal'c grabbed one from a Jaffa next to him and strode forward into the ring.

      "This is insane!" O'Neill exclaimed. "We need to evacuate and they're having a goddam duel!"

      Bra'tac was unmoved. "The people will not abandon Kytano. While he commands their loyalty, they will remain with him."

      "And while they fiddle, Rome burns."

      "Rome?"

       **"While Dansak played dice, Telmor died."**

      "Ah." Bra'tac glanced up at the sky, as the combatants took up their stance, weapons ready for the first blow.

      "Jolma'sheku is our tradition," Bra'tac said. "But sometimes," he added with a sudden fluid move of his staff weapon, "traditions must adapt." Energy gathered, flared and flew true. The shot blew off the top of Kytano's head, spattering blood in unexpected directions.

      The crowd roared its anger as Bra'tac strode forward and grabbed at the neck of the lifeless body. "Here," he shouted, fist thrust upwards with a bloody handful of snake ripped from the spine. "Here is your leader!" Amidst the wails and the cries, his voice rose again. "Go. Leave this place. Only death awaits us here."


	4. Worlds Apart

_Dear Harry,_

_Dr MacKenzie said I should keep a diary. Well, not, I guess that’s not exactly what he said. Sometimes, when there’s no one to talk to, or there are things that you don’t want to talk about, you can write them down. He said it helps. He said you can pretend you’re writing to a friend if you like. It doesn’t matter if no one ever reads it. I wish you could read it. I wish you were here, because I don’t think I can stand things much longer. I’m so alone. Mom was often away when she was working at night, but then I’d go and stay with Jack and Sam. I miss them. I miss all of them. I even miss Jack’s telescope. He used to take me out at night and help me find Hanka. As long as I could see the star it orbited, I felt home was still there. Now, I don’t know where it is any more. I don’t belong here. This isn’t my world._

_They’re all being very good to me. I had supper with Major Kawalski’s family today. He’s going to help me sort out Mom’s will and her bank account and things like that. I can’t face the thought of it yet. I’m still getting used to the fact that she won’t be coming back again._

_Myra, that’s Kawalski’s wife, told me that I’m welcome to come and stay with them for a while. I know she’s concerned that I’m living on my own. She says I’m too young. She’s probably right, but I can’t leave here, not yet. I don’t want to sleep in a strange house. I want to hang onto Mom for just a little longer. As long as I have her things around me, I know she isn’t completely gone. My real parents had no proper funeral, just a mass grave with no one to say the ritual prayers for them. Now, Janet is gone and into another mass grave and I still can’t cope with that. As long as I’m at home, I can say a prayer or sacrifice some food in the manner of my own people. Every home has a spirit. Americans don’t understand that, but I think the Japanese do. The spirit here may protect me._

_Do you think that’s silly? So many people at the SGC don’t really believe in anything at all, or at least they say they don’t. I guess it’s because of the way the Goa’uld have tricked so many people into worshipping them. But just because there are false gods doesn’t mean that there can’t be real gods and spirits. Father Locke spent a lot of time with the dying and I think they were glad to see him. He’s a good man, but I don’t feel easy around him. He says that his god would accept me, that all are equally welcome, but I know that’s not true. I read the newspapers. People hate the idea that humans could be genetically altered in any way. The church is completely opposed to that kind of thing. Plants are one thing; people are another. I know what I am. I’m not entirely human. Did Nirrti add extra genes to us, or did she change the ones that were already there? It doesn’t make any difference. I’m still a freak, just like a green rabbit._

_I need you so much. You know what I am, but it doesn’t matter to you._

      

_Dear Harry,_

_General Hammond’s back. It’s good to see him again, but it feels kind of odd as well. It’s been nearly a year since he retired. He asked me all sorts of questions. He knew about you; I guess Colonel O’Neill must have told him. He didn’t know everything though, and there were some things I didn’t tell him. I didn’t exactly lie; I just missed out a few bits here and there._

_Are you still alive? That’s what I really want to know. Nothing has been heard from the Aesir since you and Sunlight vanished. Not knowing is the worst of all. If you were dead, at least I could light a candle for you. Maybe I’ll burn one anyway. If you’re not on Earth, perhaps your spirit will find its way to another world. Who knows which gods you may need to protect you then? It’s always safest to worship more than one god. You need to be protected in different areas of your life and guided to the afterlife in death. Maybe I will go and see Father Locke. Do you think his god would listen to a prayer for you?_

      

At first glance, they might both have been asleep, but Maybourne's biorhythms spoke otherwise. Thor passed through the force wall into the holding cell and waited. Sure enough, Maybourne's eyes promptly opened.

      "Which of you is it this time?" Maybourne asked in a low voice.

      "O'Neill always claims that he cannot tell us apart. Is it really so difficult?"

      "When I've met more of you, I'll let you know."

      Maybourne eased himself out of the bed, replacing the cover over the sleeping child. His clothes were a curious loose-fitting garment in two parts, both made of a particularly unattractive striped fabric.

      "Why," Thor asked, "do you wear different clothes for sleeping?"

      "Why don't you wear any at all?"

      "Why do you always answer a question with another one?"

      "Habit."

      An answer of a kind, but not one that actually revealed anything. Maybourne seated himself cross-legged on the other bed, a position that left them roughly eye to eye, but forced Thor to remain standing if he wanted to continue the conversation. When it became apparent that Maybourne wasn't going to open the proceedings, Thor said: "You wished to speak to me?"

      "Ah, Thor," Maybourne said, with a hint of something unpleasant in his voice. "So nice of you to introduce yourself. Would you be so good as to tell me if I'm still going to be alive tomorrow?"

      Thor blinked. "I understood that you wished to discuss Sunlight on Water?"

      "I do. I want to know if I'm still responsible for her, how long I'm responsible for her and what happens when I'm no longer responsible for her."

      "You have already been tried and found guilty; you do not have the legal right to ask questions."

      "Then why are you here?"

      With O'Neill, it was easy to read his intent from gesture and manner. O'Neill had an innate curiosity: things existed to be explored, touched and investigated. He spoke his thoughts freely and did not attempt to conceal his meaning.

      This human was different.

      "I am here because I have obligations to the child and must determine the best way of fulfilling them." English was a poor language in some respects. It did not allow the finer shades of meaning, simply lumped them altogether under 'obligation'.

      Maybourne looked directly at him. "And you want my advice?"

       _More than you know. Heimdahl and I are agreed; you may provide the clues to solve our own dilemma, but I cannot take that route, no matter how great our need, if there is any chance of harm to O'Neill's child._

      "Advice has a price," Maybourne said.

      "You are in no position to bargain." If all humans were as this one, the Goa'uld would have been welcome to destroy them.

      Maybourne spread his hands in a typically human gesture. "If I don't have information, I can't give you what you need. Will she ever be returned to her own world? If that's to be the case, then she will have very different needs than if she's to stay with the Asgard."

      Interesting. O'Neill had also referred to them by the name of their homeworld. It added additional weight to O'Neill's implication that Maybourne was from his own reality.

      "Normally, she would be returned to her own people on the death of her father."

      "But as her father is from a parallel reality, you've no way of knowing. You could assume a typical human life-span and return her when he's statistically likely to be dead."

      "The issue of parallel realities has yet to be discussed within the High Council. The war with the Replicators is of greater urgency."

      Maybourne's lip twisted. "What you're saying is that Sunlight and I are caught in a legal vacuum - I imagine it could be politically embarrassing for you to raise the issue right now." He grinned abruptly. "I wonder what their reaction would be if they discovered you'd sold them the Brooklyn Bridge? But then again, if I turn out to be a Maybourne who didn't threaten to kill Sunlight, I rather suspect the legal technicality I'm hanging on by would cease to have any validity at all." The grin quirked again. "I won't tell if you won't."

      O'Neill wished this person to live?

      Maybourne cocked an eyebrow. "The word you're looking for is 'blackmail'."

      Thor was mildly surprised that his voice didn't squeak. "You have no rights in this matter."

      "I don't know..." Maybourne rolled the words around as if testing them for flavour. "I think I have exactly what I want. You can't execute me without putting it before the Council. If that happens, I have to testify as to the contractual relationship between myself and Colonel O'Neill. If I tell the truth, you're in the soup."

      "And if I decide to tell them anyway?"

      "I'll take that chance."

      Now he could read the body language. Maybourne was relaxed: back no longer as straight, hands resting lightly on his knees, and a casual smile playing on his lips.

      "Here's what I want. First, you find a way of getting human food. I don't care if you synthesise it, steal it or persuade your worshippers on the Protected Worlds to leave it as offerings. Second: more space. On ship will do, but on a planet is better. Room enough for Sunlight to run around, throw things and maybe fix up a swing. Three: company. Other children would be best, but adults will do at a pinch. I'm not too fussed about language, we can learn that if we have to. Fourth: we stay together - I wouldn't want to lose my insurance."

      It was so easy to give in gracefully. After all, Maybourne was giving him exactly what he wanted.

      

_Dear Harry,_

_Dr Mackenzie says I’m blaming myself for what happened. He says I can’t sleep because I feel guilty. And because I lost my family and because I’ve seen too many people die. But that’s happened to lots of people. I’ve been working with HR. General Hammond tried to make me go home, but I told him I couldn’t. I told people I’d try and see that their families were safe. They’re putting a lot of effort into tracing everyone. They don’t really need me, but I go places for them and I did find Feretti’s children living out of cans. They’ve got an uncle in Montanna, but until we can trace him they’re staying with Lieutenant Morgan. Morgan lost his son. I think it’s hard for him having other children in the house, but he and Feretti were in the same unit and he insisted. We look after our own. See, I’m saying ‘we’. The outside world doesn’t really exist. It’s just in my imagination. In spite of the newspaper exposés, no one out there really has any idea what it’s like in the SGC._

_School starts next week. I’ll be a junior. I can’t relate to it. I think I still want to study medicine post-grad, but I don’t know if I can get the grades without Mom and Jack to help me. Maybe I should take the easy route and opt for Classics. Greek legends feel like old friends. I wonder what you would say?_

_Chris called round yesterday. Said he had seen the light on and was glad to know I was alive. Did I tell you about Chris? He’s my boyfriend. He’s nice and we used to get on really well, but it’s like there’s this enormous hole between us now. I can’t tell him about anything that really matters. It isn’t his fault. It’s mine._

_I can talk to you. You were there._

_Harry, hold me. Please._

      

So this was what Gate travel was like: a sharp sensation of cold and nausea. Stumbling to regain his balance, Maybourne stepped out onto an alien world, holding tight onto Sunlight's hand.

      "Your dad does this for a living? I always knew the man was deranged."

      Sunlight was silent.

      Ignoring the spectacular view for an instant, he sat down on the steps leading down from the Stargate and invited her to sit down beside him.

      "Remember what I said about insults?" he asked.

      She nodded.

      "So?"

      "You're a ratbag?" She attempted a smile, and he clapped her on the shoulder.

      "That's better. Your dad knows I like him, but I've been insulting him for years and I'm not going to stop now. You just insult me right back again like Jack would, and we'll be fine."

      She stared out over the land before them. "Where is this?"

      "According to Heimdahl, this is Svenska." He took in the vast U-shaped profile of the valley that rose above them on either side, and the ice caps of the mountains beyond. Flowing down the centre of the valley, through fields with patchwork stone walls around them, was a river that seemed far too puny to have created a valley of such size. In the direction of the low-hanging sun, there was a town, close to which the river flowed into the sea.

      "Look." He pointed to a dirt track leading from the town into the farmlands. "There's people. I expect someone saw the Gate activation." _Probably looking for free entertainment, to see if any Goa'uld have been caught by the hammer._ He eyed the tall pillar with suspicion. On the top, the symbol of Thor was clearly visible. You can pass this way once, Heimdahl had said, after that, the hammer will be set to destroy you if you ever attempt to approach the Stargate.

      No access to off-world technology, never again. No access even to Earth technology; Heimdahl had taken Maybourne's wristwatch, all his books apart from the fiction, and Sunlight's plastic toys. Even Teddy Blue had had to be fought over, but at least that particular battle had been won, Heimdahl being finally convinced that the Goa'uld would not consider a cuddly toy to be a violation of the section of the treaty relating to the artificial advancement of technology on protected worlds. He still had his uniform too, complete with qualification pin and rank insignia. Presumably local metal-working techniques were at a reasonable level. Either that, or Heimdahl had concluded that the insignia provided no clues as to the techniques used to cast them. Maybourne was glad of that. No one here would recognise the uniform or understand what it meant, but it still felt good to wear it. It was a reminder of a time when he had been in control of his own life, when he'd been the one giving the orders.

      "Will they be nice to us?" Sunlight asked hesitantly.

      He nodded. "We've got money. See?" He held out some of the coins Heimdahl had given him, enough for about six months if he'd understood their value correctly. "Once we find our feet, I'll get a job of some sort and we'll be fine." He wished he was as sure of that as he sounded. What skills did he have that were relevant in a Medieval economy? _I've worked in Intelligence and can hack into computer security systems; I speak fluent Russian and a smattering of a few other Slavic languages. I've followed the Stargate programme and organised research into alien technology. Where does that get me? Nowhere, unless I can organise a Stargate programme from here, and Heimdahl is bound to be watching out for that._

       _Can I 'invent' stuff from memory? I'm not sure I actually know how a steam engine is constructed. Crop rotation would be a good one, but takes too many years to demonstrate that it works. If they have decent wire, I could probably make a simple electric generator with no problems, but what use is that if I can't make a light bulb or anything that needs electricity?_

       _Patience. You need to learn more of their culture before you can see what applies. So, for now, do what you always do: brazen it out and hope for the best._

      He straightened the lapels of his jacket with a calm hand, and waited while treacherous imagination conjured up a vision of what he'd rather be doing. __

       _Someday, I may learn to be a father to Sunlight, but I could never have done that for you, Cassandra, no matter how much you might have wanted it. Some things aren't compatible with being a parent and the way I feel about you is one of them._

       

_Dear Harry,_

_The President made a speech last night. It was all about American women and how it was our duty to cast aside fornication, embrace the sacrament of marriage and help repopulate the country. Myra was hopping mad when he’d finished. She says Kinsey is trying to undo a whole century of progress on women’s rights. He’s already backing a law to outlaw abortion for any reason, even rape._

_I never want to have to face a decision like that. Life is sacred, but what would I do if I carried a life within me that wasn’t of my choosing?_

_Myra says the combination of power and religious bigotry can be disastrous. She says abortion is just the first step, because a lot of people don’t like that. She thinks there will be lots more things to follow, because Kinsey has the people behind him and can get away with anything. They all see him as being the one who saved them, because he was the one who signed the treaty._

_Not everyone’s like that though. I saw Father Locke again today. I said I wanted him to pray for someone for me, someone he might not want to pray for. He thinks I’m a real pagan, but he listens to me anyway. I asked him if he’d pray for Harold Maybourne and he gave me the oddest look. He said: “ You’re closer to being a Christian than you think. I already pray for him. Do you think there’s anyone in greater need of God’s love and forgiveness?”_

_I don’t know if it will work. His god might help the wrong Maybourne. I’m not as nice as the Padre thinks I am. General Maybourne can rot in hell for all I care._


	5. Inheritance

"Yu allowed us to escape," Carter said. "I can't see any other explanation."

      She sat on the far side of the briefing-room table, a quick shower and change of clothing having upgraded her from looking merely fantastic to absolutely stunning. O'Neill leaned back and drank in the sight, while trying to pay attention to the rest of the group as well.

      Teal'c appeared dubious, which O'Neill chose to interpret as a comment on Carter's statement rather than her looks. He was with Carter's position on this one.

       _You're biased, because you want to sleep with her,_ Kantele said.

       _Wrong way round. I love her **because** she's capable of seeing the military overview._

       _And it has nothing to do with her being attractive, loving and compassionate?_

      He gave Kantele a mental elbow in the ribs to shut him up. This was neither the time nor the place. He was slightly suprised Carter had realised the tactical implication of Yu's actions, but command could do that to you, force you to see the larger picture.

      "Why?" Hammond asked, from the far end of the briefing-room table.

      O'Neill held himself back from the instant response he would normally have given. He'd have extended the same courtesy to any officer with a new command, but it applied doubly so to Carter. Their relationship had always been that of superior officer and subordinate; if they were to have a lasting relationship now, he'd have to hold back the reflex of command.

       _Half the reason you love her is because she knows how to take orders._

       _She's Air Force. It goes with the job. But, yeah, if she was a crap officer I wouldn't be interested. And she'll take the skin off my nose, if I try and order her round outside of work._

       _My Sam wasn't like that._

       _Your Sam didn't have to fight her way through an Air Force that still contains people who think women shouldn't be in a front-line unit._ __

      Carter sat up straight in the manner of one about to deliver a lecture and O'Neill groaned inwardly. "With regard to the length of time a Gate can be kept open, we've previously established the principle of the thirty-eight minute window," she began. "Yu sent Teal'c back to kill Kytano which proves that he was not only aware of Kytano's actions, but also that he knew the Gate address. The ha'tak arrived less than-"

      "Yu could have blocked the Gate. Sir."

      "Thank you, Colonel." Hammond's Texan drawl conveyed the slightest of reprimands.

       _Jack, you have the grace and subtlety of a charging rhino._

      He caught Carter's eye, flashed her a silent apology. To his relief, she seemed more amused than annoyed.

      "Colonel," she said, "would you care to speculate as to Yu's motives?"

      He shrugged. "Yu knows Teal'c is a member of SG-1. That means he knew we were there, but he still sent Teal'c back knowing he'd warn us about the attack. Gotta be some kind of a sting against the other System Lords."

      Teal'c sat straighter in his seat. "There is more, O'Neill. His words to me were those of respect. Never before has a System Lord spoken to me in this manner."

      Daniel spoke up for the first time. "You're kidding, right? I mean you looked as though he'd beaten you to a pulp."

      "That is true, Daniel Jackson, but nonetheless he did not speak to me as a god speaks to a Jaffa. He addressed me by name, saying that my loyalty was not lightly given, and told me that Kytano had betrayed both the System Lords and the Jaffa."

      Daniel looked thoughtful. "It's possible that Kytano was actually Imhotep, the goa'uld he claimed to have killed, or else one of Imhotep's followers. The System Lords used him to gather all the rebel Jaffa together so they could be wiped out in one strike."

      "Kytano was goa'uld," Teal'c said. "When he had the Jaffa under his command, he could not resist the temptation to attack a powerful System Lord and rule in his stead."

      "Which still doesn't explain why he let Teal'c go."

       **"Lord Yu respects both courage and intelligence.** " ****

       Damn, he hated it when they all looked at him like that.

      He spread out his hands, palm upwards. "Get used to it, guys."

      Hammond was first on the ball. "Kantele, what do you know about Lord Yu?"

      It was as though he could feel Kantele withdrawing into himself, piling up ramparts and raising the drawbridge.

       **"Yu does not play the god game."**

      "Yes, he does," Daniel objected. "He takes the persona of the Jade Emperor." He paused, grabbed a notepad and started scribbling on it. He looked at what he'd written, then lifted his head thoughtfully. "I always wondered... When Yu came here to sign the treaty with the Asgard, he gave his name as 'Yu the Great'. I took him to be Ta Yü, 'the tamer of the flood' and founder of the Hsia dynasty in China. A couple of years later, when I went to the System Lords summit meeting, Jacob told me to refer to him as the Jade Emperor.

      "The thing is, the Jade Emperor is a Buddhist deity from a much later period of history. Buddhism didn't come into China until a couple of centuries AD."

      "So, which is he?" Hammond demanded.

       **"Both,"** Kantele said shortly.

      "I need a little more than that."

      The castle walls grew higher and a portcullis slammed down to defend the gatehouse.

      "He'd rather not discuss it," O'Neill said. "I think it's personal."

      He picked up a pencil and started tracing patterns on the pristine paper of his notepad.

      Hammond glared at him. "Colonel, I seem to recall having this conversation before. If your symbiote wishes to remain part of this command, then he must obey orders. Am I making myself quite clear?"

      "Look," Daniel said hastily, "I think I can guess part of it. Ta Yü was a man, not a god - that's what the legends say. Suppose that for some reason, Yu didn't have a sarcophagus, but simply jumped host from generation to generation?"

      "He jumped into his own sons?" Carter sounded disgusted.

       _Most considered it an honour. As each became ruler in his turn, he inherited the blessing and the knowledge of the ancestral spirits._

      "That has to be it." Daniel was getting excited now, had that look in his eye that always came when he was on the trail of a new idea. He stabbed in the air with his pencil. "All the other Goa'uld took the persona of gods; which is great because you get complete belief from your followers. But there's a catch - you can't die. You have to remain eternally unchanging and young. In the end, they become completely dependent on the sarcophagus. Look at Apophis - he was trying to breed a son as a replacement host. His current host was thousands of years old and could only live a few days without a sarcophagus: he simply couldn't go on any longer. He had to get a new host who looked as much like him as possible and hope that he could get away with the change-over."

      Hammond glanced round them each in turn. "You're suggesting that Yu isn't dependent on the sarcophagus, that he could be less corrupted by it than the other System Lords."

      "Yes." Daniel nodded enthusiastically. "We-" he looked slightly embarrassed for a moment "-I - know from personal experience the effect that the sarcophagus can have on someone's personality."

      "But the Jade Emperor is a god. Son, if I'm following your argument, that means that he has to appear immortal."

      Daniel gestured expansively. "He's a Buddhist god, Sir."

      "And Buddhists believe in reincarnation." That was Carter.

      Teal'c was to the point as always. "Yu must own a sarcophagus; otherwise he would not have recovered from the attack of Osiris."

      "In other words," Hammond concluded, "Yu might be a potential ally against the other Goa'uld, but we've no way of telling for sure. Kantele?"

      O'Neill continued doodling. The patterns didn't make any sense, but they were pretty.

      "He's gone out, Sir."

      "Gone out?"

      "He's not talking to me." The pencil traced another abstract pattern.

      "I think Yu's been testing us," Daniel said. "When he gave me the title 'Yu the Great', he wanted to see if I would spot the historical significance. And he did eventually vote in favour of allowing us to retain our Stargate."

      The voices were an irritating buzz. If he concentrated hard, maybe they'd go away.

      Carter was saying something that ought to have been important about Yu's ship having fired at the Jaffa.

      When Teal'c spoke again, O'Neill had a sense of it coming from a great distance. "If Yu wished to deceive the other System Lords, then the attack would be genuine. If we were foolish enough to remain, then we would die."

      "Jack?"

      He blinked. "Daniel?"

      Daniel reached out for the paper he'd been drawing on. "What's that?"

      He looked at his own handiwork. "All Greek to me."

      "Those are ideograms. I'd say it was Chinese."

      He supposed it was. The symbols made sense when you looked at them that way. "It's a poem," he said. "But it doesn't work properly in translation."

      He flicked the paper across to Daniel, who studied it, then passed it back again with a question. "What does it say? The only symbol I recognise is the one for 'god'."

      "I don't know." He stared down at the paper. The symbols he had written looked perfectly familiar and yet he couldn't read a single one of them.

      "Can Kantele read it?"

      "No."

      "Can't or won't?" That was Hammond.

      He had the sense of stepping out over an abyss, the air empty under his feet as he started the long slow fall to the ground.

      "I don't know."

      "Colonel." The danger in Hammond's voice was unmistakable now. "You leave me with no choice. You have a symbiote who is, willingly or unwillingly, withholding information from us. I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and refer the matter to Dr MacKenzie." He held up a hand to forestall any argument. "I am well aware of your dislike of the psychiatric profession, but the situation leaves me with no other viable alternative - unless you'd prefer that I place you under arrest?"

      He reached for the already-familiar place inside him where Kantele's presence should be, but there was nothing - only mile after mile of a barrier that climbed its solid stone walls over mountain and valley alike.

      "I'll see MacKenzie," he said, because there was nothing else he could say.

      

      

Dr Fraiser stopped by the last bed in the infirmary where Teal'c stood in earnest conversation with the bed's occupant.

      "How do you feel?" she asked briskly.

      Rak'nor scowled and muttered something that sounded like the Jaffa equivalent of 'shut up and go away'. Male bravado was apparently independent of species.

      "Your injuries may have healed, but your temperature is still way too high; your pulse is erratic and your symbiote doesn't seem to be taking care of it."

      "There's nothing you can do," Rak'nor said, and turned deliberately away from her.

      "Nonsense. You're not that ill."

      "Indeed, Dr Frasier," Teal'c said, "Rak'nor is correct. There is nothing you can do. Allow him at least to die with dignity."

      "How about _living_ with dignity," she snapped. "How about telling me what's wrong with him?"

      Teal'c looked a lengthy question at Raknor before the younger Jaffa finally lowered his head in acquiescence.

      "His prim'ta has reached maturity," Teal'c said. "I have offered him mine in recognition of the life-debt between us, but he will not accept it."

      Rak'nor raised his head high, and she could see the pride that sustained him through his fear. "Teal'c must lead our people now that Kytano is dead. Teal'c is a great leader and an inspiration to us all. He is truly Jaffa."

      Not only Rak'nor... all the rebel Jaffa faced this fate. A Jaffa without his symbiote would live a day or two at the most. She could remember Teal'c slowly dying from the combined effects of the venom of an alien insect, that was rewriting his DNA, and the lack of his symbiote. He'd removed the symbiote to try and kill himself before the venom changed him entirely, before Colonel Maybourne and his NID cronies could capture him and use him as a living lab specimen.

      "Is there nowhere else you can get an immature symbiote?"

      Rak'nor spoke with a calm maturity that belied his youth. "We cannot steal a symbiote from the temple as the Goa'uld no longer give their new-born to our priests. We will not kill one of own kind in order to live. I am not afraid. My soul will go to Kheb."

      Teal'c stood beside him, hand resting on Rak'nor's shoulder. "We shall win this war. We will destroy the power of the System Lords. We will take their queens for ourselves and enslave them as they enslaved us. This, I promised Apophis."

      "And is that any reason why I shouldn't look for a medical solution in the interim?"

      Teal'c's eyes met hers and something in their dark depths unsettled her. Slowly, he reached a hand into a pocket and drew out a floppy disc. He offered it to her on the palm of his hand.

      "If this will provide assistance, then you may use it."

      His hand was dark, with the creases showing as thin pale lines, and calloused where Teal'c habitually held his staff weapon. She hesitated, touched by an odd premonition. "What is it?"

      There was no label or identification of any kind, but Teal'c recited the title without pause.

      "An investigation into the symbiotic relationship between Goa'uld and Jaffa with particular reference to the impact on the immune system."

      It sounded useful. It sounded extremely useful, but Teal'c was holding it almost as though he feared it. Who could have carried out such a study? Teal'c was the only Jaffa on Earth and she'd found out so little that was of any real use. All she really knew was what anaesthetics affected the larval Goa'uld, and how long Teal'c could survive without it. Blood samples had revealed a complex mixture of substances and she had no easy way of testing how they would work outside of the petri dish. Anything else would require serious amounts of Teal'c's time and procedures that were shaky ethically to say the least.

      "Where did you get it?"

      "It was given to me by Colonel Maybourne. It contains the death of another version of myself."

      "That mealy-mouthed, scum-sucking, son-of-a- I'll bet he got a real kick out of giving you that. Missed you in this reality, but got you in another one." She pushed the disc away gently. There was no need to ask now how the ethical problems had been dealt with. "I can't use that. If I use something gained by vivisection, then I'm no better than the person who did it. I'll find another way."

      

      

Daniel's lab was comforting in its total contrast to Sam's own. Her own world of number-crunching computers, charts of solar radiation profiles and boards filled with the elegant beauty of complex formulae was where she normally felt happy and secure. Today's problem could not be solved by mathematical analysis, or spectroscopy, or by any machine she had at her disposal. Today, she needed to understand a mind, an alien mind inextricably linked with Colonel O'Neill's. Fear clawed an icy-fingered pathway up her spine and she ruthlessly rejected it. Jack was going to get through this. He was going to get through it because the rest of them were going to make it work out.

      Daniel's clutter of scrolls, carvings and images from ancient cultures gave a feeling of reassurance and continuity. They were old. Not just years or decades old, but old in the kind of way that Kantele was old. They were the history and heritage of mankind. In an odd kind of way, these long-dead people lived on in Daniel, almost as though his fascination with them gave them a kind of immortality. If Daniel could understand them, then he had the best chance of any of them of understanding Kantele.

      She paused just inside the doorway to run her hand over a broken stone tablet, tracing the inscription with the tip of a finger.

      "It's from Giza," Daniel said, looking up from his desk. "There's a graveyard close to the pyramids where the workers were buried. That man was a quarryman."

      A tombstone, then. She pointed at random to a clay tablet on a shelf and Daniel fetched it down for her. He looked puzzled, but asked no questions as she turned it over in her hands and tried to imagine the people who had impressed the marks into the clay so many millennia ago. It was as though she needed to touch the past, bury herself in it for a moment. To believe in the past was to believe in the future, to believe that life would continue, to believe that life had meaning, to believe that everything could work out between herself and Jack.

      "What is it?" she asked.

      Daniel glanced at the markings. "It's from the Epic of Gilgamesh." He took off his glasses and looked closer. "It's um... It's the part where Shamhat captures Enkidu. She, uh..." He rubbed a lens hard against his shirt. "Sam, you didn't come here to study cuneiform."

      She said nothing for a moment, just held the baked clay in her hand. The tablet was ancient and yet the Goa'uld had already been on Earth when it had been made. It was Daniel who had seen the implications in ancient texts across so many different cultures and realised aliens must have been here. His knowledge was so wide-ranging and extensive that it was always a mild shock to find something he couldn't instantly understand.

      "Were you able to translate what Colonel O'Neill wrote?"

      Daniel pulled Jack's paper out from under an ornate gaming board, and a sheaf of notes from a folder tucked behind a small sphinx. "It's an early form of Chinese, but the advantage of ideograms is that the images are consistent across many different spoken languages. Unlike a phonetic script, you don't need to speak the language in order to read it."

      "How far have you got?"

      "Well, obviously it isn't perfect, but I've got a first draft." He took a thick leather-bound volume from the top of a pile and opened it at a book-marked page. Columns of ideograms marched down the page with translations in German against each one. "This symbol here clearly translates as child or children."

      'Kinder' - she knew that one. There were some interesting scientific papers published in German and she'd started to learn the language after wanting to read the original of a paper that she suspected of being inaccurately translated. After struggling for a few months in a morass of genders, cases and modal verbs, she'd given up.

      Daniel thought nothing of working through a second language to get to English. The word 'genius' seemed inadequate. She wasn't up to following a word by word translation, and she knew it.

      "Can you just show me the draft?" She had a fleeting moment of sympathy for Jack's distaste of long scientific explanations, but she had no regrets about her actions on that score. Partly because it had been her job to offer them and his right as CO to accept or reject them, and partly because it had achieved the status of a standing joke between them.

      "Here." Daniel took a page from the folder and smoothed it out in front of her.

       _The gods have many children and they have few._

       _Those of the many are loyal, but their line does not continue._

       _Those of the few are the lines of kings, but they are formidable and dangerous to those who sire them._

       _Nothing is secret from one's children._

      "That's it?"

      "Yes." He pointed to the last line. "I'm taking this bit to be a reference to Goa'uld genetic memory."

      "That would tie into the line above. Remember Bra'tac's plan to turn Apophis and Klorel against one another? He said a System Lord was more likely to be deposed by his own children than anyone else."

      Daniel nodded. "I imagine that's also why the Goa'uld kill all harsesis children. A human child with all the knowledge of two Goa'uld could be as dangerous as a Goa'uld. Shifu would have been as evil as Apophis if Oma Desala hadn't helped him suppress the memories." His eyes rested momentarily on a photograph on his desk. She didn't need to look to know who the picture was of: Shifu's mother, Sha're. _You lost your love when she became a Goa'uld host. Please, let my love be safe._

      Daniel focused back on the paper once more. "I'm not so sure about the many and few part," he said. "I may have mistranslated a symbol. I was going to ask Teal'c, but he's sitting with Rak'nor." He bit gently on his lower lip. "Rak'nor's dying, and I think Teal'c blames himself."

      His words faded out of her awareness as the memory came. She was standing along with a thousand others in a great hall, listening to the words of a tall woman in a long flowing gown. _My children, you have come of age and now you will play the role that was destined for you. We are many. We are one. We are Tok'ra._

      She shook her head to clear it. Jolinar's memories still had the power to disconcert: it was the sensation of being someone else, of feeling thoughts and emotions that were not your own.

      "Jolinar," she said by way of explanation for her brief fugue. "The Tok'ra are all so alike because Egeria was able to give birth parthenogenetically without a male Goa'uld. Hathor did the same thing when she was here. The result is many children who have the memories of only one parent and who are typically loyal to that parent. But the lack of a male parent means they're missing a chromosome, hence they're all neuter. Even when two parents are involved, true male and female offspring are rare. Egeria's line came to an end when she died. The Tok'ra have gained a few recruits since then, but there's always a risk that anyone not born from Egeria may be a spy."

      "Ah..."

      "I don't believe it," she said.

      "You don't know what I'm going to say."

      "Yes I do."

      "All right, then, I don't believe it either."

      They looked cautiously at one another for a moment, caught somewhere between conviction and double bluff.

      "So..." Daniel said carefully. "If Kantele isn't one of Egeria's children, but we don't believe he's a spy, that raises one rather obvious question."

      "Two. Who is he descended from? And how does that affect Jack?"

      Daniel stared at her in mild bemusement. "You know, I think that's the first time I've ever heard you call Jack by his first name."

      She winced. "I'll have to watch that."

      "Why? You're doing everything by the book, and everyone on the base knows you're an item now."

       _Item. Right. I love him, he loves me; but if I make a move he sidesteps - so smoothly that I didn't even realise what he was doing at first. We sleep together, but that's all: just sleep. Is it his distress over Sunlight, or is Kantele affecting him in some way? I thought Kantele... I don't know any more. What I do know is that I love Jack, and I won't lose him._

      "Calling him Colonel is normal practice when I'm on duty," she said, "but more to the point he needs me in two ways right now. I need to give him emotional support, but if I'm to help solve this problem with Kantele I've got to keep a degree of detachment. It works best if I keep my mind in separate compartments and don't open more than one of them at once."

      "I think that may be it," Daniel said slowly. "I think Kantele's blocking himself. I think there's parts of that genetic memory that he doesn't want to access. The real question is what's buried in there?"

      

      

The locker room was empty apart from Colonel O'Neill sitting, slumped, on a bench with his back to the door.

      "Colonel."

      As the door closed behind her, he came warily to his feet.

      "Come to see the freak show?"

      His bitter self-mockery irked her.

      "Is that how you thought of me when I was host to Jolinar?"

      "Touché. Why don't you take a seat, Carter. It's all I currently have to offer." He gestured at the bench beside him.

      "I prefer to stand."

      "As you wish." He promptly sat down again and devoted his attention to the floor.

      "Colonel!"

      He gave her a half-glance over his shoulder. "If Hammond sent you here to interrogate me, say what you have to say and then get out."

      "Hammond wouldn't do that."

      "Think again, Carter; you're a career officer. Personal feelings don't count."

      She could see where he was coming from, didn't want to revisit that particular corner of their past. If given the order, she would do what he had had to do to her when she was host to Jolinar.

      "Is Kantele connected to Lord Yu?" she asked.

      "Maybe. I don't know."

      "Kantele?"

      O'Neill tapped his right temple. "Nobody there. He's not speaking to us right now."

      "Keeping a low profile?"

      "I barely know he's there." His eyes flicked to hers, held them, as though drawn taut by an invisible thread. "Carter, am I being a royal pain in the butt?"

      "Yes, Sir."

      He came to his feet, and suddenly all she could think of was the loose-limbed grace in the way he moved, of the way his hands had held her on the one night they'd actually had sex. His eyes moved over her body, with a hunger that set her on fire.

      "Jack," his name came alive on her lips, "what do you want?"

      "What I want," he said roughly, "is to strip off that damn uniform, pull you onto the floor and make love to you for the next two hours. Unfortunately, this is the men's locker room and you shouldn't even be in here, let alone anything else."

      Butterflies chased one another in a racetrack around her stomach and her legs were developing a sudden weakness that had absolutely nothing to do with her desire to touch him, to feel the strength in his arms and to taste his lips again. Absolutely nothing...

      "It's Kantele, isn't it?" she said, struggling to keep her reactions under control. "He doesn't feel the same way?"

      "Oh, he does. _That's_ the problem."

      "That's the problem?" She had the sense that she was being incredibly stupid, or that Jack was being incredibly obtuse. "It's a problem _because_ he loves me?"

      "He..." The colonel was visibly floundering, hands half-spread in helpless appeal.

      Putting things into words had never been his strong point, not when it came to emotions between the two of them. "If you don't tell me," she said patiently, "then I won't know."

      Jack winced. "He had a guilt trip the morning after. You're Jacob's daughter."

      So that was it. It made sense in a crazy sort of way. Having had both her father and her 'daughter' as hosts, Kantele's emotions had to be pretty confused where she was concerned. Could he have coped if he hadn't responded to her sexually as well? Because he had. Of that she had no doubt at all.

       _Right, Carter, time to fight dirty._

      "Which of us are you marrying?" she demanded. "Me or Kantele?"

      "It's.."

      "Not that simple? I know. But if we decide what we want, then we'll find a solution. _Do_ you want to marry me?"

      "Yes." Not a trace of hesitation in that voice. Then: "Carter, was that a proposal?"

      She blinked. "Yes. There's no law against women proposing."

      Jack smiled, a sudden flash of the cheerful cheeky grin that she knew and loved so well.

      "You can tell Daniel that he owes me five dollars."

      "You..." She laughed, couldn't help herself. "You had a bet with Daniel as to whether I'd propose to you?"

      "Only five dollars." He pulled an expression reminiscent of a small boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Then, his face brightened. "We had another one on the 'obey' issue. Which way do you stand on that?"

      "Which end of the bet did you take?" she asked.

      O'Neill tapped the side of his nose. "That would be telling."

      It was an interesting question. Five years ago, she would have answered automatically: 'No way.' Swearing to obey one's husband was anachronistic and insulting to women. Now? She found that she was capable of surprising herself.

      "Sir. I've obeyed your orders for five years in the line of duty. You have never abused that position. Not once. I promise to obey you."

      He was uncharacteristically silent for moment.

      "Major, I have never been more privileged in my life to lose a bet."

      That was Jack O'Neill. If asked, she might have said that she loved him for his looks, or his sense of humour, his intelligence or simply the strong camaraderie that came from working together. In truth, it was more than that: the core of integrity that ran though him and affected everything he did. It was that integral sense of honour that recognised the depth of what she had promised him, and valued it accordingly.

      He was worth fighting for, and fight she would, even if he didn't like it.

      "Sir, you have an appointment with Dr MacKenzie at fourteen hundred hours."

      "No."

      "Fourteen hundred," she repeated, as though she hadn't heard him.

      "Carter, what part of 'no' didn't you understand? I'm not letting anyone mess around inside my head."

      "Daniel thinks Kantele is suppressing memories."

      "Now there's a surprise. You know, I'd actually managed to work that one out for myself."

      "Yes, Sir, but you're Tok'ra. You have access to his memories if you want to."

      "I don't want to. _Capeesh?_ "

      She said nothing, simply waited.

      "Carter, which one of us is giving the orders around here?"

      "You are. Sir."

      "Just checking." He sighed. "Okay, I'll see the shrink. But, Sam, I don't want you there."

      She nodded. "I know. What's between you, me and Kantele is for us to deal with. If I'm not there, it'll help you steer clear of that part of your memories. But be careful, Daniel said Kantele's memories could be dangerous."

      "Did he say why?"

      "Not exactly. He just said that Shifu had warned him."

      "Terrific."

      

      

Jack stood in the doorway, with a cold, set look on his face that said he was only co-operating with this because he could see no other option.

      Feeling the chill, Daniel shifted uncomfortably in his chair. MacKenzie looked over at him and half-raised an eyebrow.

      "I never said this was going to be easy," Daniel muttered under his breath.

      The psych lab was a small room and about as welcoming as the SGC ever managed to get. The usual plastic stacking chairs had been replaced by a couple of leather armchairs placed so as to face one another without blocking the view of the oversize video screen that graced the far wall. Presently, a cloudscape drifted slowly across it, though when Daniel had first come here to talk to MacKenzine, the design had been the gentle rise and fall of coloured blobs in a lava lamp. The bland classical paintings on the wall were matched by the bland classical music playing quietly in the background. Most people would probably find it relaxing, but Jack...

      "Turn that damn muzak off."

      "It's to help you relax," MacKenzie said.

      "Well, it isn't working."

      No, it wouldn't - Jack hated anything intended to manipulate him. Hardly surprising when you considered what he'd been through over the years.

      "Then sit down," MacKenzie gestured at the chair facing the screen, "and try to relax by whatever means you can." He switched off the music and pressed a button to start the tape recorder. "What I'm going to do is to take you back in time. We want to access Kantele's memories before you became his host and discover exactly what his connection is to Lord Yu. Do you understand?"

      "Just get on with it." Jack sat stiffly upright in the chair, stared ahead at the cloudscape.

      "There's something else," Daniel said hesitantly.

      "What?"

      "We, uh..." He scratched at a sudden itch on the back of his neck.

      "When we've finished with this," MacKenzie said, "I'll need to run a full set of psychometric tests on you."

      "And this is because...?" Jack said, with a dangerous edge to his voice.

      Appearing completely unfazed, MacKenzie calmly checked some papers on a clipboard. "To ensure that your personality has not changed since the last set of tests."

      "I ticked boxes at random last time."

      Now, you could hear strain in MacKenzie's voice. "Colonel, I really must-"

      "I don't care what you-"

      "Jack! He's trying to protect you and all the rest of us."

      "From what? You think Kantele's a zatarc?"

      "Actually, no," Daniel admitted, "but now you mention it, yes, there has to be that possibility." He should have thought of that one. It was horribly obvious in retrospect. "If Kantele thinks he could have been programmed, then he might be trying to protect us. He could have closed himself out to avoid reacting to a potential trigger."

      Like a gladiator taking basic precautions against a lion he had just been informed might be a man-eater, MacKenzine manoeuvred his clipboard carefully between himself and the Colonel.

      "Colonel, a Goa'uld has the ability to control the host at will, and according to what Dr Jackson has already told me, there is a definite risk in accessing Kantele's memories."

      Jack didn't look at the psychiatrist, he looked straight at Daniel.

      "I thought you trusted us?"

      'Us' Did Jack realise he'd said that?

      He perched himself on a corner of the table next to the tape recorder, aware that his palms were sweating, and tried not to let his nervousness show.

      "Jack, there's something I need to tell you."

      "I left the gas on? No? It's the jacket, right? Doesn't tone with the decor. I just knew I should have worn blue today."

      After joining the SGC, it had taken him all of a week to realise that Jack had learned the trick of using humour as a defence, but it had taken a lot longer to figure out ways past it. Now, he had both the knowledge and the confidence in them both to know when to cut to the chase.

      "It's about Shifu." He turned to MacKenzie. "Doctor, I know we discussed this earlier, but I think it should go on the tape recording as well."

      "Nice one, Daniel. Get it all down for posterity."

      Daniel winced. It wasn't just humour Jack used as a weapon. 

      He didn't want to go though this, didn't want to recall what he'd done, but he owed it to Jack to warn him of the dangers, to let him have the option of getting out of this.

      The worst bit might as well come first. "I had the memories of a Goa'uld once. I ended up murdering thousands, only spared you so I could gloat."

      "I never thought you had it in you. Gloating, that is. I guess I must have been looking in the other direction when the mass murder happened."

      "It was in a dream." Daniel flinched inwardly as more painful memories worked their way to the surface. "Shifu showed me what would happen if I had all the knowledge of his parents. You can't separate the knowledge of the Goa'uld from what they are. I tried to save the world and ended up becoming a dictator. Apophis's memories were just too strong for me.

      "It was gradual at first. I started mistrusting Teal'c: I was sure he'd betray me. One day, he had an 'accident'. I told myself that it was justified, that if he'd betrayed Apophis, then he'd betray us too. Then I started gathering power. Everything was too important to allow anyone else to control it. I had to keep it all in my own hands.

      "You were the only one who realised what I was doing and you tried to stop me. I thought it was amusing that you, a mere human, should think you could outwit me. You never had a chance."

      Jack's face was an open book. Neither of them needed to say anything. He'd known Jack for long enough to know what was going through his friend's mind, probably pretty similar to what had gone through his mind when he'd awoken and realised that it had all been a dream, except that for Jack it might not be a dream... It could happen for real.

      "What about Selmak?" Jack demanded. "He's got those ancestral thingies."

      "But only from one parent," Daniel countered, "and we know who that parent was. Selmak was born parthenogenetically of Egeria and he has her memories, like all the other Tok'ra - except Kantele."

      Jack was getting into stubborn mode. "Egeria had parents."

      "And we don't know anything about them." He spread his hand wide in frustration. "They were extemely minor Goa'uld. The myths say that Egeria was a nymph; that's pretty low ranking by System Lord standards. Maybe her parents didn't have access to a sarcophagus, maybe they weren't as evil as most Goa'uld. Maybe she was just an exceptionally strong character. The thing is, we just don't know." He could feel the urge to grab MacKenzie's clipboard and bang Jack over the head with it. "And we know nothing about Kantele's ancestors. Nothing."

      Coming to his feet, Jack reached out a hand to rest on Daniel's shoulder. "I know something." His eyes searched Daniel's. "Kantele's over a thousand years old. Whatever he's got in there, he's managed to deal with it this long. Besides," he shrugged, "I know him. I don't believe he'd anymore go bad than you would."

      Daniel jumped off the table, bouncing up and down on his heels. "Don't you see! That's just the point."

      "Yeah." Sobriety had settled in. The old Jack, the one he remembered from Abydos. No humour now, just a cold ruthless assessment of the situation. "If we're to stay at the SGC, then this has to be done. Doesn't matter if Kantele wakes up half an hour from now and tells me everything's right as rain. We deal with Goa'uld problems all the time, here - if this can happen once, then it can happen again."

      "Jack..."

      "I know. Risking my neck is what they pay me for. But, Danny Boy, do one thing for me, will ya?"

      "Name it."

      "If you have any doubts afterwards, contact Bra'tac. Tell him he can shoot me if he thinks there's anything wrong."

      "You really think he can..."

      Jack shrugged. "Maybe. I'd trust him over a psychbabble test or a polygraph."


	6. Conscience?

_Dear Harry,_

       _I went to a party last night. It was supposed to be a wake for all the people in my class who died. Everyone was desperate to be happy. It was all right at first, the music was good and I actually started to unwind. One of the seniors snuck in some alcohol. People are normally very strict about drink, but I guess everyone was so desperate to forget that no one said anything this time. Besides, Chris said it was silly: you can vote and get married before you can legally buy a drink in this state._

       _I don't normally drink, apart from an occasional glass of wine with a meal at home. I didn't have much last night. I swear I didn't._

       _I can see you with that sceptical look on your face... Maybe I was a little bit woozy, but I wasn't drunk. I think there was other stuff there as well, but I didn't touch any of that. I'm not completely stupid._

       _I'd walked there. It wasn't that far, and I remember it was nice to be in the fresh air after spending so much time underground. When Chris offered me a lift home because it was dark, I never thought twice about it. I should have done, because he wasn't really fit to drive and you know what I'm going to say, don't you? Stop looking at me like that._

       _I asked him in for a cup of coffee. He needed it to sober him up a bit. While I was sorting the mugs out, he kept trying to touch me. I didn't mind that, not really. I feel so alone. I need to be close to someone. Chris is a nice boy. I like him. Really, I do._

       _He said that now my mom wasn't here, we could do whatever we liked. I said I wasn't sure if I wanted to have sex. He said we were both over fifteen and half the girls in my class had done it already. I said how did he know? He said he had heard stories. I didn't want him to go, but I didn't want him to stay either. I'm not sure how I feel about him; I'm not sure how I feel about anyone any more._

       _I knew Mom wouldn't have wanted me to do it._

       _He put his arms round me and managed to unfasten my bra at the back._

       _It was as though I could hear you speaking._

       _You said: Make up your mind. Tell him what you want and stick to it._

       _So I said: No._

       _Chris looked at me as though I was slightly crazy._

       _I said, No. I don't want to do it. Not because it's illegal, or because I might get pregnant, or anything else like that. I just don't want to do it yet._

       _And he accepted that. For a moment, I was scared that he wouldn't, but he did. He drank down his coffee and said goodnight and went home. I missed him when he had gone, but I know I did what was right for me. I don't want to go down that road yet. There are too many things I need to straighten out in my mind._

       _I wish you were here._

       _If I can hear you, does that mean you're still alive?_

       

      

High up, almost hidden in the shadows beyond the light from the lead-paned windows, wooden carvings of fishing boats at sea formed a frieze between the supports of the hammer-beam roof of the guild hall. Down the centre of the room ran a massive table of solid oak with high-backed chairs in a straight line along each side. To the right stood a smaller table, with a design on top that reminded Maybourne vaguely of a backgammon board. There were even counters for players of the game. 

      The room raised contradictory emotions in him. The architectural style was medieval, but the wood was light in colour instead of the black induced by age and smoky fires. On the lintel over the door were carved the letters MCIIIVII. Void of any clue as to when year zero was, the date lacked meaning. You had to go to Europe to find buildings of this nature, unless of course you were a millionaire and could ship over the real thing for reassembly in your own estates. On the walls hung tapestries which had a similar impact to the hall itself: old designs showing the exploits of gods and heroes, but with the colours bright and vivid rather than faded to dull shades of brown and blue. 

      He felt oddly out of place, caught between newness and a sense of age.

      The guildmasters inspired the same mixture of feelings. Their crafts were antique: shipwright, leather-maker, silversmith, and so forth, but they were sharp-eyed and quick-witted in their dealings. It had taken him a week to get this appointment; outsiders were not normally welcome to speak at meetings.

      As everyone took their seats, he ran mentally over his calculations. He'd had to make several educated guesses regarding the economy in addition to checking prices, but funding a small-scale trial shouldn't be beyond them, and the long-term pay-off could make them all rich. Half the problem would be trying to explain the concepts in a language that didn't even have a word for 'science'. When Heimdahl had offered to imprint the Svenska language on his brain he had accepted without hesitation, but the language had turned out to have its limitations. Sunlight had had the same offer, but he'd refused on her behalf; her brain was still developing - the risk might be minimal, but he didn't want to take it. She'd pick up the language soon enough; the problem there would be to ensure that she continued to learn English. She had a few local words already. Right now though, she sat quietly on a chair beside the doorway - close enough to be able to see him, but apart from the meeting. He'd taken great pains to convince her of the need to behave in front of these people.

      Everyone was seated and waiting.

      "We are exiles," he began, "refugees from Midgard, escapees from the destruction caused by the Ettins. My Goddaughter," he gestured to Sunlight in her pretty purple pinafore dress, "as you have doubtless recognised, is of the royal blood." There were a couple of nods around the table. Good, he'd caught that one correctly. Amazing what you could learn if you read enough National Geographics. Purple had been a rare, expensive colour until synthetic dyes came along. "Her father and mother fought the Ettins many times in battle, until they were defeated by treachery.

      "We have fled here, to a world under the protection of the Aesir. We escaped with nothing more than we could carry. We have no weapons, no magics, but I have knowledge that will be of great use to you. However, it will take time and money to reproduce that information - I have no tools, no equipment; my books of knowledge were lost.

      "But," he held up a volume of Shakespeare, "the books I still retain show proof of what I can do for you. I know how to print in such a way that each page does not have to be carved as a single woodblock. If I have the money and a skilled metal-worker, then I can build a machine to do this type of printing in a year or less. There is more, far more, ideas and concepts that will lead to enormous advances, but I won't deceive you - it will take a long time to reproduce them.

      "In the case of printing, there are potential benefits to all of you. Imagine having the great legends available for everyone to read. Imagine books so cheap that you can hardly believe the price. Imagine having the knowledge of your crafts instantly available for those who wish to learn."

      That gained him nothing but stony glares. Somehow, he'd goofed. How? Where? Was there a religious prohibition on printing stories of the gods?

      "If the secrets of the crafts are available for all to know," one of them said, "then who will be willing to serve an apprenticeship?"

       _Ah, not religion, just good old-fashioned greed. Okay, hit them in the wallet._

      "Forget trade secrets," he said hastily. "Just consider the money to be made from printing religious books. It currently costs seventy crowns for a scribe to copy the entire volume of legends by hand. It takes him most of a year to do a single volume. If I can print copies for one crown each, I can sell them for five crowns. By the time collating and binding are allowed for, I should be able to produce an average of a copy a day. That's three hundred and twelve copies a year at four crowns profit each, making an overall profit of one thousand, two hundred and forty-eight crowns. Now, if I-"

      The master shipwright made a warding sign.

       _Now what!_

      "Karl," said the mayor, "does he deceive us?"

      A man at the bottom of the long table rose and went over to the gaming table. "A copy each day at four crowns?" he said, laying counters on the table as he did so.

      "That's just a rough estimate," Maybourne said. "It doesn't allow for holidays. I still don't know how many feast days you have in a year. How many are there?"

      The mayor half-closed his eyes in concentration. "The blessing of the ships, the giving of the runes, harvest celebration... Thirteen in all."

      "Okay, so that's three hundred and twelve minus eleven, which is three hundred and one. Multiply that by four and you get twelve hundred and four."

      The mayor jerked back in his chair. "Sorceror!"

      Sunlight pulled at Maybourne's hand. "Harry, what's wrong?"

      He ignored her, had to to concentrate on the situation at hand.

      "What did I say?"

      An accusing finger pointed at him. "You cast account without even using the stones. By what kind of sorcery do you do that?"

      "Wait. You're saying that arithmetic is magic? You can't do multiplication?" The date over the door had been in Roman numerals. Did they use proper numbers? The idea of trying to do any kind of math using Roman numbering was scary.

      Karl looked up from his table. Not a gaming table, Maybourne's memory for the new language juggled words and finally came up with a term that had 'abacus' as its closest English equivalent, except that this device he remembered as a boy had had beads sliding on rods and this one involved a much slower movement of stones in columns. "His first calculation was correct," Karl said. "I am checking the second one."

      "Harry!"

      He couldn't ignore her this time.

      "Princess, I have to decide if it's safer to be a genius or a magician."

      "You're a Grand Vizier."

      "Okay, we'll go with magician." He switched rapidly back to Svenska. "That's nothing. I can do division as well." Did Karl look a trifle pale? He grabbed Teddy Blue, held it aloft. "I have a guardian spirit granted me by Heimdahl himself. It taught me everything to do with numbers. I can do addition, subtraction, multiplication, division and..." his tongue tripped over the lack of an equivalent for 'quadratic equations' "...and numerology..." He smiled, enjoying the sudden sensation of power that came with the nervous looks of his listeners. _Why stop at numerology?_ _Let them fear you a little._ He reached out his hands, spoke slowly and deliberately. " _'Twas brillig and the slithy toves, Did gyre and gimble in the wabe; All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe._

      " _That_ ensured that no evil spirits can enter this place until after the next blessing of the ships. Rest assured, my curses have similar power should I choose to use them."

      Such a pleasure to see an attentive audience... _Now_ _appeal to greed, it's usually a reliable motive._ "I'll do your accounts, keep your customers and suppliers from cheating you, for half of whatever Karl charges. And what's more, for a suitable fee, I'll even teach you how to do it for yourselves."

      

_Dear Harry,_

       _Sometimes I think about having a baby. To have someone who loved me and wouldn't go away and leave me. ___

      

A race that does not use money should not be able to gamble, but the Asgard manage it anyway - they simply use different stakes. In a room aboard _Bifrost_ , two of them relaxed surrounded by soothing microtones of grey highlighted by shifting patterns of ultraviolet dancing over the walls. Music of faint cymbals echoed in time with the tracing lights and notes of cedarwood completed the symphony.

      Thor smiled gently. "I believe I said within ten days?"

      "I removed all devices from him," Heimdahl said in frustration, even as he inclined his head to indicate the precise degree of political support that he would now owe Thor at the next meeting of the High Council. The music accepted his emotion, adding a hint of amber resin to the circulating air.

      "Maybourne is adaptable, as are many of the Earth humans, and technology transfer is his stock in trade. He will introduce more changes before the year is out."

      "But what of the treaty?"

      "The treaty forbids us from artificially advancing the technology of the protected worlds. Maybourne is not Aesir and he went through the Gate at his own request, after having all technological items taken from him. I do not think there has been any violation. Indeed, in the eyes of the Goa'uld, the ideas that he brings with him may be so primitive as to be of no interest to them in any case."

      Heimdahl's nostrils picked up a delicate floral scent: Thor had keyed another element to the symphony. "If the changes are of so little worth, why are you pleased?"

      "Because they are critical. Earth has advanced beyond the Protected Worlds, because there are multiple cultures on the same planet. They take ideas from one another, develop and adapt them. As communications grow faster, technology accelerates. On Earth, positional arithmetic was developed by the Hindus, adopted by the Arabs and only slowly made its way over centuries into Europe. Most of their present day computers and mathematics would be impossible without it. The other change Maybourne will give them is movable type. Printing accelerates the spread of knowledge."

      "But you could not be certain he would do this."

      "I could not predict precisely what he would do. It might have been agricultural machinery or crop rotation with legumes - both would have increased the percentage of the population devoted to jobs other than raising food, which would also speed development. It might have been something else entirely. The only thing I could be certain of is that he is a man who seeks his own advantage; he will use anything that he has to ensure his own survival."

      "Including the child?"

      "What do you think?" Thor asked.

      "That may be the one area in which he has a conscience."

      

_Harry,_

       _You lied to me. You bastard, you LIED to me. It was all around school today. It was even someone I knew. The physics teacher got one of my class pregnant. He's been charged with sexual assault, because Eileen's under seventeen and he's a lot older than she is. Chris told me the truth. Fifteen is legal, but only with someone of your own age group._

       _You said it was legal at sixteen. If you were here right now, I'd scratch your eyes out._

      

_Harry,_

       _I HURT. Have you any idea how much it hurts? You were all I had left._


	7. The Lotus Pool

"Colonel." MacKenzie looked as though he was trying to smooth over nervous irritation with professional calm. Calm was winning, but O'Neill reckoned it was a close call. He'd have prefered it if this was just between him and Daniel. Sharing his mind with Kantele worked only because they respected each other's privacy. What he was being asked to do now, was to to pry into Kantele's mind and hold the contents up for the inspection of a stranger. That struck him as obscene.

      "Watch the screen," MacKenzie said. "As your mind relaxes, I'm going to talk you back to the point at which you joined with Kantele. Then we're going to try and access Kantele's memory of the same moment and use that as a starting point to work back through his memories."

      No way. That memory was personal to him and to Kantele. They'd barely come through the experience alive and sane.

      "Jack," Daniel said. "Forget it. You don't have to dod this."

      "There isn't any alternative." MacKenzie was emphatic.

      "He can resign."

       _Resign._ He tasted the word for flavour, didn't like it. Besides, Hammond couldn't afford to let him walk free, not with the unknown security risk he presented in his current state.

      "He has to access the symbiote," MacKenzie said, "and there's no other way to do it."

      But there was...

      "Candles."

      "What?"

      "I need some candles. A dozen at least. Big fat honking white ones. Borrow them off Teal'c."

      Daniel's eyes were alive. "Kelno'reem? Do you think you can you do it?"

      "I think so." He corrected himself. "I hope so." 

      

      O'Neill stared at the flame, willing himself once more towards emptiness. This hadn't been easy the only other time he'd done it, and it wasn't any easier now. When he and Teal'c had swopped minds, at least he'd been in a body that was used to this kind of thing. Sitting cross-legged on the floor might be natural to Teal'c, but his own body wasn't used to the contortions.

      What was it Teal'c had told him...

       _You must focus on the centre of your mind and ignore all other distractions. When you reach the state of being in a waking dream, then your dream will be in harmony with the symbiote and it will be able to heal you._

      Except that he didn't need healing. Kantele was normally a conscious presence in his mind, didn't need any ritual to be aware of him. And why did meditation have to be done in this silly position? It was hell on the knees. Except that his bad knee wasn't bothering him, and come to think of it, hadn't bothered him for several days. _So when did Kantele fix that particular problem?_

      Stop the side issues. Concentrate.

      He cast his mind back, tried to recall Teal'c's exact instructions.

       _You must empty your mind. When your mind is empty of all distractions, then you will be able to achieve oneness._

      Or was that a line from some old TV show?

      He stared again at the candle, trying to block out thoughts of last night's hockey game, but the harder he tried not to think of it, the more it came to mind.

      "You must concentrate on your breathing, O'Neill. On that and on the candle flame."

      The voice was quiet, but recognisably Teal'c's. Something inside him relaxed, and the gently-voiced instructions continued, almost hypnotically, until there was nothing at all, nothing except a vast expanse of emptiness.

      

      The emptiness coalesced into the form of a flower. Floating on the surface of the water was a lotus blossom, each petal perfect in form and colour. Gently iridescent in the bright sunlight, the bloom of each petal had the magic of a dragonfly's wing. There was the suggestion of the rainbow in the depths of its white purity. Symmetry eluded the eye. The flower was self-evidently perfect and yet the exact arrangement of the petals followed no simple rule but some deeper mathematical law that was beyond his understanding. It was alive, and he was a part of that life along with every thing in the entire universe.

      For an unknown length of time he sat in silent concentration, perfectly focused and perfectly at ease. The flower was nothing and it was everything. He wanted nothing, needed nothing. Life flowed around him and he allowed it to carry him along its course.

      

       _The tao that can be described_

       _is not the eternal Tao._

       _The name that can be spoken_

       _is not the eternal Name._

       _The nameless is the boundary of Heaven and Earth._

       _The named is the mother of creation._

      

       _Freed from desire, you can see the hidden mystery._

       _By having desire, you can only see what is visibly real._

      

       _Yet mystery and reality_

       _emerge from the same source._

       _This source is called darkness._

      

       _Darkness born from darkness._

       _The beginning of all understanding._

      

      For an instant, it all made perfect sense, and then, as he tried to grasp it, the meaning was gone and there was just a jumble of ideas.

       _All right,_ he asked of no one in particular. _What was that about?_

      "Beats me," Kantele said cheerfully.

      The vision of the lotus wavered and vanished and O'Neill found himself sitting, still cross-legged on a rush mat in a small open-fronted building that looked as though it belonged in a Japanese garden. Through the open wall, he could see a lotus pond, a formal elegant rectangle surrounded by worn stone flags. Green leaves lay flat and overlapping on the surface, with half-a-dozen white flowers floating beside them in silent harmony. From below the surface came the occasional flash of gold on scales as a fish swam leisurely by.

      Opposite him, also cross-legged, sat a young man dressed in the simple robe of an oriental monk.

      "So?" O'Neill asked.

      "So," Kantele said, "you're the first host ever to find this place."

      "It wasn't easy." He could hear the anger in his voice. "What the hell were you playing at?"

      "It was necessary. __

       _"The location makes the dwelling good._

       _Depth of understanding makes the mind good._

       _A kind heart makes the giving good._

       _Integrity makes the government good._

       _Accomplishment makes your labors good._

       _Proper timing makes a decision good."_

      "Okay, you can stop spouting that Buddhist crap. Why did you bail out on me?"

      "Because I was tempted. For the first time in nearly three hundred years. And if I was tempted, then you were going to have it in spades. And it's not Buddhist, it's the 'Tao-te Ching', although Taoism and Buddhism have a lot in common. Yü Huang Shang Ti is worshipped by followers of both."

      "I just knew this was going to come back to the old snakehead."

      Kantele gestured towards the pool, and beyond, towards the mountains that rose like grey smoke on the horizon. "This place was his gift to me. Here, he left me five things: the analects of K'ung-fu-tzu; the 'Tao-te Ching' of Lao-tzu; the laws of Shang Yang; the 'Art of War' of Sun tzü; and the 'I Ching'."

      "Okay, the first one sounds like a martial art, most of the others sound like the menu of a Chinese restaurant, but I recognise Sun tzü. I've read him; guy had his head screwed on. Did you know the Chinese Communists based all their tactics on that book? They won." He held up a hand. "Don't tell me about the rest; you've got that look in your eye that Daniel has when he's about to give me a lecture on piece of broken pottery. Tell me where Lord Yu fits into this."

      "He's my father."

      So, he'd seen it coming; didn't mean he'd wanted to have it confirmed.

      "And you were going to tell me, when?"

      "Never, if possible."

      "I thought this was supposed to be an equal partnership?"

      Kantele sighed. "Jack, have I ever asked you about your divorce?"

      "Okay, point taken; but if you have Yu's memories, then we can use them. We _need_ that knowledge of Goa'uld technology. He's a System Lord, he's got to have the lot - probably stuff there that even the Tok'ra don't know."

      " _Those whose desires are few get them,_

       _those whose desires are great go astray."_

      "Will you stop that? It makes my head ache."

      "You asked why I came here. I came, because I knew you would want that knowledge. I came, because it's too dangerous to access that knowledge.

      "Yu gave me a gift that may be unique among the Goa'uld. He gave me a choice. He understood both the desire for power and the possibility of not desiring power. As Ch'in Shih huang-ti, he finally united the whole of China under one rulership to become the first true Emperor. To understand the immensity of that achievement, you'd need to know more Chinese history than you'd get bored with. Just accept that he ruled an Empire that could put a million troops into the field. Yu feared the Empire would not survive Shih huang-ti's death - his sons were incompetent and unpopular; Yu foresaw a revolution even if he took one of them as host. At that time, he had no sarcophagus. He became obsessed with extending his life in order to hang onto his Empire, fell prey to superstition of every kind. He was completely insane. As if having achieved what he'd sought to do for one and a half a thousand years, he'd found that it hadn't given him what he wanted, but still had to fight at all costs to hold onto it simply because he didn't know any other path to follow. He became obsessed with the legend of the Yellow Emperor, of whom it was said that he had ascended to become a Taoist immortal.

      "In spite of his efforts, Shih huang-ti died. Yu changed direction. For the first time, he abandoned trying to rule the country and took a monk as host. Saved his sanity, if you ask me. He was still obsessed with the idea of ascension, but in following the Tao, he came to understand the freedom that comes with lack of desire. When the System Lords decided to leave Earth-"

      "Had their butts kicked, you mean."

      "When they _chose_. Did you really believe that one puny slave rebellion in Egypt could remove all Goa'uld from Earth? They had the technology to pulverise the entire planet."

      "Okay; this is going to be good, isn't it?" O'Neill laced the words with a liberal dose of sarcasm. "I can tell."

      "An Ancient came through the Gate."

      "An Ancient? You've met an Ancient?"

      "Ra did," Kantele responded. "She told Ra that her children were starting to reach adulthood, that the Goa'uld should leave Earth."

      "And they decided to leave, just like that?"

      "No. They attacked her with everything up to and including the Goa'uld equivalent of a tactical nuke. When that failed, the System Lords met in council for the first time in centuries. Only Yu understood what she truly was, and he kept quiet. He'd never seen it happen himself, but he'd heard stories from people he believed. A man learned in the Way would die and all that would be left was his robes as his body dissolved into light. She was an ascended being and that was the key to understanding her."

      "Whoa! You're saying those squiggly-light beings are the Ancients?"

      "Didn't you know?"

      "Forget it. Go on with the story."

      "Yu handled the negotiations himself. The Goa'uld would withdraw from Earth and leave its people free to develop their own religions without Goa'uld interference. Oma Desala agreed not to interfere with other Goa'uld-controlled worlds. Her world of Kheb was agreed to be a planet of refuge and to be off-limits to all Goa'uld."

      "Been there. Met her. She's got a nice line in killing Jaffa. I can see why she might make the System Lords nervous."

      "It might not have worked even then, if the System Lords hadn't been spending less and less time on Earth anyway. They all had their own colonies of human slaves established on other worlds. They had their faithful worshippers and their Jaffa. They were also starting to tread on one another's toes; disputes between them were becoming more and more common as their numbers increased. None of them had been willing to depart and leave Earth to the others, but if they all left..."

      "I'm surprised they didn't threaten to kill humans in retaliation."

      "It was seriously considered. The vote was a close one."

      "And?"

      "They left. Yu cut a private deal with Oma Desala. He could return via the Antarctic Gate as long as he took no slaves, no hosts and didn't interfere in religious matters. On one of his trips was about a thousand years ago, he re-encountered Taoism. What had originally been a 'religion' with no gods, had spawned numerous offshoots, one of which was the worship of a celestial court ruled over by the Jade Emperor: Yü Huang Shang Ti. That tickled his sense of irony and he adopted the title himself.

      "Most of the Goa'uld took little notice. Lord Yu he had been, and Lord Yu he remained. One of Ra's daughters was curious enough to seduce him. She was suspicious of certain beliefs that were spreading among the Jaffa and suspected that Yu was in some way involved. Her logic was simple. If she could not gain the information from Yu directly, then she could gain it indirectly through his children. Yu gambled. He chose to have a son. He spent two weeks in meditation and created this place in his mind. If I think of my parents, this is where I come first. Here, I can find the stillness of mind to avoid desire. I have a choice. I can accept my parent's memories and desires and become like them, or I can choose not to desire power.

      "When I joined with Tuevo, I made my choice. I chose to be an equal partner."

      O'Neill sat still and stared out at the pool. Tranquility could carry its own dangers, but this place carried a feel of age and peace that he'd felt in very few places in his life. Maybe he'd visit again someday. Maybe.

      "So, Yu's a good guy?"

      "No. He's merely an improvement on most of the rest. Think of him as being a bit like Maybourne. You might work with him in a pinch, but you'd better watch your back carefully. Yu's thousands of years old. He's wily, he's devious and he's no longer afraid of death. He's not capable of ascension, but he has still grown past his fear and that makes him capable of greater understanding than the other System Lords. Never underestimate him."

      "And your mother?"

      "I was hoping you wouldn't mention her..."

      "Because?"

      "Because she was Bastet."


	8. Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All you ever wanted to know about goa'uld biology...

Hammond leafed through the pages of the folder. It was a very thick folder covering many years of outstanding service, dedication to duty, acts of outright heroism and all too frequent insubordination. He had letters in his in-tray demanding to see that folder. He had phone calls, that he was ignoring, that insisted he do something about it immediately.

      He didn't even know whose folder it was any more.

      Was this the file of the best officer under his command, or simply the epitaph of a man who no longer existed in any meaningful form?

      O'Neill stood before him now, tall, straight and uncharacteristically silent, flanked by Doctors Jackson and MacKenzie. Jackson was edgy and nervous, he kept glancing at the folder and then at O'Neill who refused to meet his eyes.

      Hammond closed the folder with careful restraint.

      "Bastet?" he said.

      Jackson tugged at the front of his jacket which hung casually open as always, as though it was necessary for it to proclaim 'I'm a civilian'. His words came reluctantly, dragged out by the military discipline that he had acquired in spite of himself. "She was the Egyptian cat-headed goddess of sex and fertility. During the New Kingdom period, she became equated with Sekhmet, the lion-headed goddess of war. When I was disguised as Yu's lo'tar at the recent System Lords summit meeting, she was present. Yu didn't trust her at all, but then he didn't trust any of them."

      He still harboured the vain hope that he'd somehow misheard. "You're telling me that Kantele is the son of not one, but two, of the most powerful System Lords?"

      "That's correct," MacKenzie said, neat and precise in his white lab coat. "Kantele claims that the use of Buddhist meditation techniques has enabled him to avoid being dominated by these memories." He looked sideways at O'Neill who glared at him. "It is my belief that he is telling the truth."

      Jack jerked in surprise and MacKenzie gave a half-smile.

      "Colonel O'Neill has a long-standing dislike of my profession and makes no secret of the fact. While I am certain that Kantele could carry out a perfect impersonation if he took control, I believe he would have attempted to convey a somewhat more favourable impression when so much was at stake."

      Interesting to watch O'Neill's face as he struggled to digest that one.

      "You think we're on the up and up, because I'm a pain in the butt?"

      "In essence, yes." MacKenzie proffered a clipboard full of notes. "I do have supporting evidence: I repeated one of Schaffer's classic studies of attention. Colonel O'Neill is capable of audio-typing a message heard over headphones, while simultaneously reading out loud from a text book. Normal humans can't do this without an extremely high error rate. Therefore, I presume the presence of two independent minds in the one body.

      "While Doctor Jackson has provided convincing evidence as to the risks presented by genetic memory, I believe they don't apply in this particular case - provided that certain precautions are maintained."

      "Name them."

      "I do not believe it would be wise to try and obtain Goa'uld scientific knowledge. Kantele's complete lack of interest in that sphere appears to me to be a defence mechanism to avoid dealing with memories that may be dangerous. Regardless of what pressure you may come under to access Kantele's scientific or military knowledge, I recommend in the strongest possible terms that you do not accede to it."

      Well, that was certainly going to annoy half the people who'd written him memos in the last couple of days. It would appear that the only plus of having a Tok'ra in the Air Force was that he could be ordered to hand over useful technology.

       _"The only way to win is to deny it battle."_

      They all turned simultaneously to look at Jackson.

      "Sorry." He blinked and half-shook his head in embarrassment. "That's what Shifu told me. I agree with Doctor MacKenzie: Jack shouldn't go near those memories, no matter how tempting they may be."

      O'Neill shrugged uncomfortably. "That's what started this mess. Kantele blanked out because he was trying to protect me. He may have been right - if I'd realised at that point whose memories we had, I'd probably have tried to look."

      Because Jack was as keen as any when it came to the chance of gaining alien weaponry. You couldn't fault him when it came to doing his job.

      He dismissed MacKenzie with a glance. "Thank you, Doctor, your advice has been invaluable. I'll expect a full written report by this evening."

      "Uh, Doc." O'Neill held out a hand. "I owe you one."

      MacKenzie took the hand, gave it a brisk firm shake. "Just try and remember, Colonel, my profession has advanced a little since the days when they drilled holes in people's heads to release demons."

      

      

A nurse was mopping the floor. As though it was some kind of religious rite, he worked carefully around and between every bed whether there was visible dirt or not. The Tau'ri made almost a fetish out of cleanliness, but then they had to. Without symbiotes, they were so much more prone to disease. Maybe that was why so many of them were religious -- when life was precarious, people looked for any kind of hope they could find. Some of their religions were good, there was no doubt about that, but the evangelists Teal'c saw on TV with their constant requests for money seemed to bear little relationship to the carpenter's son who had thrown the money-changers from the temple. Was it coincidence that Christianity had emerged around the time the Goa'uld left Earth? He had no opinion on that score. Jesus had spoken well and the Bible was interesting to read as a way of understanding the Tau'ri, but he had no desire to worship again at the altar of any god.

      Rak'nor was pale, his breathing uneven and his hands clasped over his pouch. He was brave, but he was also young and there was so little time to convey what needed to be known. It took a lifetime to learn what it truly meant to be Jaffa, to become one with the universe and to fully become aware of everything around you. It was a process that began by gaining oneness with the symbiote, but with the aid of the right teacher could be taken to a far higher plane.

      "It is time," Rak'nor said. Plunging his hand into his pouch, he drew out his symbiote.

      It hissed angrily, tail threshing around; the short fins that would help it glide towards its intended host were fully extended. It flew nowhere; Rak'nor had his thumb and forefinger correctly hooked inside the gills. He gripped his other hand round the snake-like body, preparatory to breaking its spine.

      Flying down the ward came a diminutive figure in a white lab coat.

      "What are you doing?" Fraiser demanded.

      "I take the life of that which would take mine," Rak'nor replied.

      For the benefit of the doctor, Teal'c added, "It seeks a host, therefore it must die." Whether the host was Rak'nor or another was immaterial; the creature could not be allowed to live.

      "Leave it!" Her outrage was so powerful that Rak'nor actually hesitated.

      "It is Goa'uld."

      "It's an intelligent being," she snapped. "Do you think it has any less rights than Apophis had when he was dying?"

      "I do not believe that the false god Apophis had any rights," Teal'c said calmly.

      "Then we'll have to differ. But while you're here, this is my infirmary and no one, Goa'uld or not, is going to be murdered as long as I'm alive and breathing."

      Not even up to his chin, but she did not allow his size and strength to intimidate her in the least bit. Although he didn't agree with her, she still commanded respect.

      "If it is allowed to live, can you use it to save Rak'nor's life?"

      "I'll do what I can as long as it doesn't cause the Goa'uld any injury, but there may be nothing new - I've already reviewed everything I've ever learnt from your symbiote. I've been up half the night studying every piece of research on parasites and the immune system that I can find, but I don't know if any of it will be enough."

      Make-up didn't entirely conceal the bags under her eyes, nor was she able to keep the fatigue out of her voice. Under any other circumstance, he would have been gentle, but Rak'nor had less than two days to live.

      "Then you must use the information on Maybourne's disc."

      

      

It was hard, very hard, to just sit quiet when Hammond was talking. Kantele missed the other George and the relaxed friendship he'd had with Jacob. Okay, so this George was friends with Jack, but it wasn't the same. The difference in rank affected everything, that and the fact that Jack was in active service rather than retired as Jacob had been.

       _Get used to it,_ Jack said.

      George shuffled some papers on his desk, probably trying to look busy. Eventually, he pulled one from somewhere near the bottom of the stack and studied it carefully. Jack swopped a brief glance with Daniel, who gave a quick shrug suggesting that he had no idea either.

      "Colonel O'Neill, I'm assigning you to an advisory capacity in this command. You will go off-world with teams when it is judged that you or Kantele have knowledge that would prove useful-"

       **"Yes!"** _Oops._ **"Sorry."**

       George glared, but he didn't care. They could still travel the stars.

      "When not on missions, you will assist Dr Jackson with his translation work."

      "How about watching paint dry instead?"

      He was with Jack on that one. Languages were okay when it came to song and story, but who wanted to spend all day translating ancient inscriptions when there were more interesting things to be done?

       **"I've got a better idea. Sir."**

       "What?" Daniel asked quickly. Maybe he didn't want a stir-crazy Jack annoying him half the day either. Evenings were going to be quite enough as they started getting their teeth properly into the Asgard legal texts.

       **"Training."**

      Jack was with him, running with the idea:

      "Most recruits have no idea of the strength or abilities of a Goa'uld-"

       **"If they have to cope with the two of us using Goa'uld technology"**

       "like one of those hand devices that you've got tucked away somewhere"

       **"then they'll get much better experience"**

       "get the crap kicked out of them a few times"

       **"and learn to run a mile when they see glowing eyes."** He demonstrated for good measure.

      Daniel eyed him dubiously. "And you pick up an award for camp over-acting?"

      "It beats solving anagrams in Sanskrit," Jack replied.

      For a miracle, George looked approving. He nodded once, decisively. "There's always a risk of one of our own people being compromised. Our trainees need to face a Goa'uld who knows all the SGC weapons and protocols."

       **"Hey, can we wear a fancy costume and pretend to be a god?"**

      Was that a smile George was hiding behind a conveniently placed hand?

      "Just avoid the ancient Greeks," Daniel advised.

      "Why?" Jack asked, with hint of suspicion in his voice.

      "Well, I don't think you'd be seen dead in a toga, and the alternative is um..."

      "Is um what?"

      "They were very keen on male beauty. Their statues show that they often represented the gods in an idealised form."

      "Idealised?"

      "No clothes."

      "Daniel..."

      "Jack?"

      "Any god I choose to impersonate will wear pants. Got it?"

      

      

"I must tell you of Kheb."

      "I know about Kheb. My soul will go there when I die. Kytano lied about many things, but Kheb is real \- Bra'tac has been there."

      "Kheb is more than a place. It is a state of mind."

      While still young, he had met Bra'tac and been virtually adopted by him. What had it been about the brash young Jaffa that had made Bra'tac decide to make him his protégé? At the time, he had assumed it had been his strength and fighting skills; now, with older, wiser eyes, he knew that it had been his hatred for Cronus. That desire to avenge his father meant that he was already receptive to the idea of hating a god, of killing one, perhaps even of denying that they were gods at all. He had been ready for what Bra'tac wanted to teach him.

      Not that he had been at all receptive to the message. He had protested that this was a waste of his time, that what he needed to learn to become First Prime was to become the most skilled fighter of all. Bra'tac hadn't argued, he had simply demonstrated that Teal'c was still capable of being knocked out by a practice staff weapon and, when Teal'c regained consciousness, he had begun again:

      "The mind of a Jaffa is as important as his body. You will learn. As my father taught me, so will I teach you."

      And so he had learnt. What had at first seemed nonsense began to gain meaning, a meaning that was so different to that of the System Lords that to grasp it could not help but make one despise them.

       _To conduct one's life according to the Way,_

       _is to conduct one's life without regrets;_

       _to realize that potential within oneself_

       _which is of benefit to all._

      It hadn't been a quick lesson or an easy one. Desire and ambition had been strong in the young man that he had been, anger and the need for vengeance likewise. He had done things that he now regretted, but when the time had come for him to abandon all that he had and do what he knew was right, he had been able to take the step.

      As had Rak'nor.

       _The virtue of the Way governs all nature._

       _Thus, he who is at one with it,_

       _is one with everything which lives,_

       _having freedom from the fear of death._

      It was one thing to go fearless into battle, confident of victory and careless of the consequence, when your god told you that you would enter his paradise after death. It was another thing to face a slow death with no glory, when you knew it could be postponed by taking the life of another Jaffa. It was a different thing again to face that death with calm acceptance when you had no certainty of what would come after, apart from an old man's belief that there was _something_.

      There was a calmness on the young man's face that he had rarely if ever seen in a Jaffa of this age.

      Maybe there was nothing Teal'c needed to teach him after all.

      

      

Blood. Fraiser had blood on her hands and it wouldn't go away. Every screen of information, every detailed photograph and diagram made it worse. Every description she read made her an accomplice to what had happened to Teal'c. Not just Teal'c. Subjects B and C weren't even identified. It seemed unlikely that they had even spoken English; their notes were a mass of numbers and measurements, but nothing gave a hint of them as individuals. They might as well have been Jewish experimental subjects in a Nazi concentration camp. "Subject B showed signs of distress." "Subject C developed breathing difficulties." "Subject A refused food and is being fed via a drip."

      Sam had been in twice to try to persuade her to take a break, but she couldn't. To leave the screen was to betray the three Jaffa who had died.

      She read the page again, eyes blurring as she tried to take in the details. There had to be something wrong with their method of caring for the symbiote. She'd fed Rak'nor's symbiote the same way Maybourne's people had fed theirs, and Teal'c agreed that it should work, but although the symbiote snatched at its food with every sign of interest, it always spat it out a few seconds later.

      That wasn't all. The symbiote should be producing secretions that could be filtered from the water and injected into the Jaffa. The concentrations she was getting were so low as to be virtually impossible to recover. She had to be doing something wrong, but what?

      The screen went blank as someone leaned over her shoulder and switched it off.

      "Janet." Sam caught her wrist as she reached out to switch it on again. "You're coming with me, and you're going to get something to eat and then you're going to sleep."

      "I can't."

      "You can. You're the one who always tells me that people can't work properly when they're tired."

      "Rak'nor's dying." She didn't have to be in the ward to see the plastic tent erected around his bed in a desperate attempt to shield him from infections, didn't need the latest blood sample to know that his white cell count was falling. Every drug she'd tried had failed to boost his immune system; by this time tomorrow he'd be in a coma, not long after that he'd be dead.

      Sam was saying something, asking if there weren't other people who could help. And there lay another source of pain.

      "Sam, the best immunologist I know \- he wrote this report. I cannot ask him for help, I _cannot_."

      "People aren't always the same in other realities."

      "Some are. Do you think the Maybourne who sent Teal'c to Area 51 is any different from the Maybourne who tried to do that in our reality?"

      Sam took her by the elbow and steered her gently through the door and in the direction of the commissary. "I don't know," she said. "I can't put a finger on him. Most of the time I despise him, and then he'll suddenly do something that makes me actually respect him. He put his life on the line for Sunlight's people - there's no getting away from that. Even in our reality, he helped the Colonel when I was captured by Adrian Conrad's people."

      "They wouldn't have wanted you in the first place, if Maybourne hadn't sold them a symbiote. Life means nothing to him. A symbiote is just something that can be sold for cash."

      "He thought they wanted it for medical research."

      "Should that make a difference? Where's the ethical distinction between experimenting on a Jaffa and experimenting on a Goa'uld? Or a Tollan for that matter. What do you think he intended to do with the Tollan refugees if they didn't give him the knowledge he wanted?

      "You think the Goa'uld are evil? I think they stack up quite well against Maybourne."

      

      

"Eat." Sam plonked the plate on the table and glared at Janet.

      "I'm not hungry." Janet's voice was low, barely audible over the hubub of conversation at other tables.

      After five years of eating in the SGC commissary the sentiment was understandable, but the food wasn't that bad really; the roast chicken she'd selected for Janet actually smelt quite appetising. Okay, so the potatoes were a bit on the soggy side and the broccoli was even more limp than usual, but you couldn't win them all.

      "Eat up some of it and I'll tell you something special." She'd meant to save it until later, until she and Jack were able to tell everyone together, but Janet needed to share in some happiness.

      Janet poked at chicken with a fork, sliced off an uneven lump and put the cutlery down again without eating anything. She stared blankly at the far wall, gaze passing through all the other diners.

      "I can't. All I can see is those Jaffa. They were murdered and he was behind it."

      Sam reached out and touched her friend gently on the wrist. "Forget Maybourne. There's more important things in life: I just saw MacKenzie and he's given the Colonel and Kantele a clean bill of health. Kantele has ancestral memories that he has to avoid, but he seems to have no problems blocking them."

      Janet speared a piece of broccoli and looked at it consideringly. Then she sat up straighter, put it into her mouth and swallowed.

      "Sam, I'm really glad to hear that. And not just for the obvious reasons. I wanted to discuss Rak'nor's problem with Selmak, but your dad's not on the base - I'm hoping Kantele may be able to help."

      Through the doorway behind Janet's back, hitting the appropriate moment as always, came a tall male figure accompanied by Teal'c and Daniel.

      "Why," complained O'Neill, "does everyone want to talk to Kantele rather than me? What's he got that I haven't?"

      "Tok'ra memories, Sir," Janet said.

      Sam jumped in immediately. "Kantele, you're not to say a word until she's eaten something."

       **"Okey dokey."**

       At the sound of Kantele's voice, people at nearby tables looked around, quickly returning their attention to their meals as she glared at them.

      "Colonel," Janet insisted, "I need to know now. It may be important for Rak'nor."

      "When you've eaten," O'Neill retorted. "Have I got to say everything twice?"

      "I don't know. Does Kantele speak for you?"

      Hammond had seen this coming, had known there would be problems of this kind.

      "Kantele trusts Carter's judgement. So do I."

      "With all due respect, Sir," Janet insisted, "that's not the issue."

      And it wasn't. Everything in the SGC, from General Hammond to the catering staff, ultimately depended on chain of command - that was the problem.

      Daniel moved forward as though to say something, but the Colonel stopped him with a slight hand movement. He grabbed a tumbler off the table and banged on it loudly with a spoon.

      "Right, listen up, everyone."

      Heads turned, chairs scraped on the floor as most of the room gave him their full attention.

      "Is there anyone in this room who is not aware of Kantele's presence on this base?"

      "Who?" asked a young lieutenant seated near the serving counter.

       **"Me."**

      You just knew Kantele loved doing that. Probably because he couldn't resist throwing in the glowing eyes as well... You could practically feel the ripple of unease running around the room; it showed in hands making instinctive movements towards weapons that were fortunately locked securely away in the armoury, in the carefully guarded expressions of people whom she normally looked on as friends and in the sudden thud of a ketchup bottle hitting the floor.

      Teal'c took a careful step forward, placing himself pointedly at O'Neill's side. A half-second later, Daniel took the other flank. If she hadn't been sitting down on the other side of the table, she'd have joined them, but the movement would have distracted attention from Jack. He had to know what he was doing, and he would also know she'd back him in any way that he needed.

      "Kantele is Tok'ra, he's here, and he's staying. I'm going to answer the most obvious questions and then I expect to hear no further discussion on the topic. Am I making myself clear?"

      Silence. The Colonel rarely pulled rank, but when he did he left you in no doubt as to who the senior officer was.

      "Kantele and I are remaining with this command in an advisory capacity. Kantele has the status of a civilian expert, but I retain the rank of Colonel. At any time within the SGC or on a mission through the Gate, you should assume that Kantele is acting under my orders."

      Ouch. She had a moment's sympathy for the symbiote. She was used to military discipline, but she had had a choice about entering the Air Force. It was necessary though, and she was sure that Hammond had made that very clear to Kantele.

      "In any social setting," O'Neill continued, "we speak independently."

      Apart from the background noise of the coffee machine and the occasional gentle chink of cup touching saucer, the commissary was quiet. As she scanned around the room, she tried to read the mood. People sat too stiffly in their chairs, eyes flicked from face to face as they asked silent questions of those beside them. The way some of them looked at Jack... Would Kantele ever be able to gain full acceptance here? Would Jack be able to retain the fine balance of liking and respect that he had had from almost everyone on the base?

      She caught his eye and tapped at her still-empty ring finger. _Do you want to tell them? Will they find it easier to accept you, if they know that I accept you?_

      He shook his head almost imperceptibly, then dipped it slightly in the Tok'ra fashion that they didn't normally bother with.

       **"The next five minutes are a social setting. You're all wondering, 'Who is this snake?', 'Why did Colonel O'Neill decide to become a host?', and 'Can we trust him?'. Well, the second is none of your business and the third you're going to have to decide for yourselves, but as for the first...**

       **"This is for all those who've ever had to cope with Colonel O'Neill's attitude towards paperwork. Rather against his better judgement, he's letting me borrow his voice. Don't blame this one on him, it's all me, apart from one line in verse four...**

      

'Twas on a Monday morning, the Colonel came to call,  
He said: "I need some duct tape; they've run out at the mall."  
I said: "Just fill these forms in, it'll take no time at all."  
But I had to call the Major in to peel him off the wall.  
Oh, it all makes work for a working man to do!  
      

The tune sounded vaguely familiar.

      

'Twas on a Tuesday morning, the Major came around,  
She said: "I need a power source, please earth it to the ground."  
I said: "Please fill this form in, to keep my records right."  
She said: "Sure, it's no problem." - then out went all the lights.  
Oh, it all makes work for a working man to do!

Definitely familiar. A couple of the audience were singing along with the chorus line.

      

'Twas on a Wednesday morning the Jaffa, Tea'lc, came,  
   
He called me Sergeant Sanderson, which isn't quite my name,  
He filled out all the paperwork in fluent Linear B,  
So, I needed Dr. Jackson, to decipher it for me.  
Oh, it all makes work for a working man to do!

      

'Twas on a Thursday morning, that Daniel came along,  
With his glasses and a dictionary and an Abydonian song,  
He wanted some wax tablets, which really aren't our norm,  
And then I found he'd signed his name in perfect cuneiform.  
Oh, it all makes work for a working man to do!

The audience were with him now, smiling, laughing at the parts that amused them.

      

'Twas on a Friday morning, I finally made a start,  


I dived into the paperwork, I tackled every part,  


Every row and every column, but when Hammond came along,  


I had to say: "It's hopeless, I've been cursed with SG-1!"  


Oh it all makes work for a working man to do.

On Saturday and Sunday, we do no work at all,  
  

So, 'twas on a Monday morning that the Colonel came to call...

      Why should she be surprised at the audience's reaction? Hadn't Kantele lived a thousand years as an entertainer? He bowed with an exaggerated flourish, accepting the applause. **"I now return you to your regular presenter."**

      O'Neill shook his head. "Just be glad he didn't do the one about Ra and the priestess's daughter. It's got thirty-eight-"

       **"thirty-nine"**

       "-verses and is totally obscene. He says he does weddings on request, but I've told him no way-"

       **"-except-"**

      "-for one."

      And now, it was the right moment. Now there were people who might feel happy for her rather than pity her. _And if Kantele can't overcome his hang-ups? Who'll pity you then?_ She stomped ruthlessly on the thought; they'd always found solutions in the past. They'd find one now.

      She came round the table to meet him, lightly touched the hands that Jack held out to her, and flowed into his embrace. Wolf whistles greeted her from several directions and a barrage of cheers.

      "Sam," Janet said from close beside her, "you're absolutely crazy to take on that pair of clowns, and I'm so happy for you, I can't..."

      So she turned round and gave Janet a hug as well, and felt as much as saw the tears flowing.

      

      

As the former SG-1 clustered themselves loosely around the tank holding Rak'nor's symbiote, it struck Fraiser that between them they represented every stage of the Goa'uld life cycle. Daniel, the uninfected human staring at the alien in the tank; Teal'c with his larval Goa'uld; Jack/Kantele; and Sam, the former host. If she couldn't find a solution with the aid of these people, then maybe there was no solution to be found.

      O'Neill bent down and looked curiously into the tank. The symbiote, as though sensing the presence of an adult of its own kind, swam forward, fins splayed out, mouthparts snapping wide open in some kind of threat display. For a moment, Frasier thought the Colonel was going to start pulling faces back at it, but apparently some level of military decorum was still surviving his engagement announcement. He and Sam appeared to have mastered the knack of walking on air whilst keeping their feet firmly on the ground.

      "Got any fish food?" the Colonel asked, tapping a finger on the glass.

      "It has already been fed," Teal'c replied, as the symbiote wasted another attack on O'Neill's finger.

      "What's it eat?"

      "You do not wish to know."

      "Yes, I do."

      "You do not."

      "Do."

      Daniel caught her eye, gave her a rueful smile.

      "Very well, O'Neill," Teal'c said, "it is fed on scrapings from the lining of Rak'nor's pouch."

      "Yeuch! Teal'c, I've only just eaten."

      Teal'c said nothing, merely gazed with abstract interest at a monitor several feet behind O'Neill's head.

      "Teal'c."

      "Yes, O'Neill?"

      "Remind me to listen to you when you're right."

      Teal'c gave a gentle incline of his head and Frasier reminded herself sharply that giggling was non-professional. Besides, there were things she needed to know before the effect of the food and the euphoria wore off and she fell fast asleep on her feet.

      "If I understand Maybourne's notes correctly-"

      "Maybourne?" asked O'Neill

      "Long story," Sam said hastily. "The other Maybourne gave a disc to our Maybourne, who gave it Teal'c, who gave it to Janet."

      "And was anyone going to tell me when they'd finished playing pass the parcel?"

      Frasier put on her 'Air Force' face. "Yes, Sir. The next time I get a report on Goa'uld physiology, I'll send a copy straight to your desk. I'm sure you'll find the contrast in morphology between the larval and adult forms to be absolutely fascinating."

      "Doc." O'Neill affected a weary pose, leaning on the plastic top of the fish tank. "You're giving me a headache."

      That made her one point up on today's game, but only by a whisker.

      "Do they differ in much besides appearance?" Sam asked with an obvious interest that gained her a despairing look from her fiancé.

       **"Shall I tell her?"** Kantele asked.

      O'Neill shrugged. "You're the expert."

       **"When we're fully mature, we can't digest food any more. Instead, we absorb nutrients directly from the bloodstream of the host. This involves-"**

       O'Neill stuck his fingers in his ears. "I'm not listening. I don't want to know what he's doing to my body."

       _Unfair!_ Daniel was grinning widely from behind the Colonel's back, while she had to maintain a straight face.

       **"I can't tell you much,"** Kantele said with a grin of his own, **"I absorb stuff through the skin. I filter waste through Jack's kidneys. At least, I think that's where it goes."**

      Frasier grabbed a clipboard. "Can you tell me what the critical amino acids are?"

       **"I might if I knew what an amino acid was."**

      "Uh." Daniel worked his way around the fish tank and came to sit on a corner of her desk. "I think we've got a translation problem here. Kantele only knows the English that Jacob and Jack know, and they're neither of them biologists."

       **"Hey, I'm with Jack on this one. I'm not a biologist either. Do you know how your body works?"**

      "But," she said, "surely you have-"

      Daniel touched her on the forearm. "Don't follow that line," he said quietly. "If he doesn't know it from his own experience, then don't ask. The ancestral memories are too risky. Wait until Selmak returns."

      She recognised a warning when she heard one. With someone else, she might have argued, but Daniel knew what was at stake here. If the symbiote died, then any hope of using it to save Rak'nor died with it.

      Maybe what Kantele had given her was enough. The change between larva and adult had to be as great as that between caterpillar and butterfly. The butterfly could no more eat leaves than the caterpillar could drink nectar. No wonder Rak'nor's Goa'uld rejected food; Rak'nor had said it was already over-mature.

      "If I put low concentrations of sugars and amino acids in the water," she said, "then we can measure the concentration after a few hours and see which ones are being absorbed. The catch is that we'll have to work through them one at a time in case any of them turn out to be toxic."

      "Makes sense," Sam said. "Make up a list of everything that's essential for the human body in dietary terms and I'll get one of the lab techs to start making up solutions as soon as you've gone to bed."

      Schoolboy-like, Daniel raised a hand. "I think you may be able to go one step better. The original Goa'uld hosts were unas. Take a look at the blood samples you've got and concentrate on anything that unas and humans have in common."

      Even to her tired mind, that made sense. It also raised a series of new questions.

      "Why did they change host species? And how? Two thousand years is a short time in evolutionary terms, especially for a species as long-lived as Goa'uld."

       **"We evolved to match the unas. Their bodies are not that dissimilar to your own, but far from identical. When the Goa'uld started to use human hosts, they had to develop the Jaffa - when larvae grow inside a human Jaffa, they adapt gradually to human physiology. Before the Goa'uld had Jaffa, only half of the larvae were successful in taking a human host - the rest died."**

       "But why humans?" Sam asked. "Why not stick with the unas? They're stronger after all."

       **"Several reasons.** **You breed much faster. You're more agile and dexterous. But the main reason is that the sarcophagus works particularly well on you."**

      "That's what Ra said," Daniel added. "He said we were easy to repair."

       **"The sarcophagus allows...** **"** Kantele paused. **"What we Tok'ra give to the host is mainly improved resistance to disease and a slowing of the effects of aging. Improved health in turn leads to improved reflexes and a slight gain in strength."**

      "I've seen Goa'uld break free from restraints that a human couldn't manage," Sam said. "I'd say it can be a pretty big gain in strength."

       **"No. It's an illusion. Or rather, it's real, but it damages the host. Feats of strength can be done only by risking tearing muscles and damaging the bones. To a Goa'uld, that doesn't matter. They can repair the host using a sarcophagus. That's another reason why we Tok'ra don't use the sarcophagus. Its use implies a willingness to disregard the host's welfare."**

      Fraiser nodded inwardly. It made sense, except for one point. "So why are Jaffa stronger than normal?"

       **"Because the larva releases hormones that accelerate muscle growth. It's to our advantage to have a strong host to protect us when we are too young to take control of the body."**

      "But there's a trade off?" In biological terms, a gain was almost always at the expense of something else.

       **"Reduced fertility."**

      "Hey!" O'Neill yelped. "Uh, okay, belay that."

      Not hard to guess what that internal conversation had been. How did Teal'c feel on that score? Was he even aware of the problem? It night help explain why he had only one child that they knew of. At an age of ninety-five, he should rightly have hordes of children and grandchildren.

      "According to my studies and the data on the disc Teal'c gave me, when a Jaffa reaches puberty, his immune system deteriorates and soon fails to function at all. Correct?"

       **"Yeah. Because a Jaffa could refuse to take a symbiote otherwise. That way, he has no choice in the matter."**

      "So there's no way Rak'nor's immune system can be restored."

       **"Not without a sarcophagus."**

      "But then how did the Tok'ra manage to remove Klorel from Skarra without killing Skarra?"

       **"In a human host, the symbiote takes over the task of the immune system and the original immune system atrophies. If you remove the symbiote, then the host dies of the first infection that comes along. But it is possible for the original immune system to recover over time. The Tok'ra sustain the host through that period by giving a gradually decreasing dose of the substances secreted by the symbiote. If you have enough Tok'ra, then we can all produce a little extra, allow it to be extracted from our hosts' blood and injected into the former host."**

      Then the adult form presumably secreted a similar mixture of substances to the larva, but tailored to a human rather than a Jaffa. A magic bullet. A cure for everything. Given enough symbiotes and a method of keeping them alive, you could eliminate all diseases. The implications were staggering. The scientists working for Maybourne had shown that secretions from the symbiote had greatly extended the period during which a Jaffa could survive without it, but the process had not been perfected. The secretions were a complex mess of chemicals and most were too complex to synthesise. Perhaps Kantele...

      "Could you produce enough to keep Rak'nor alive? You supplied us with antibodies against the plague."

      The Colonel's face screwed into a grimace. **"You're going to hate me for this, but it has to be no. One specific disease for a short period of time is possible, but the Tok'ra disallow anything else and there's good reason. I've known Tok'ra who died as a result of trying to help too many people. In trying to save Rak'nor, you'd risk losing Jack. I can keep one person alive, not two."**

      Maybourne's 'experiments' backed that up. They'd tried swopping one symbiote between two Jaffa. Within twenty-four hours both had become delirious, their vital signs had started decaying not long after. One had died before the experiment was abandoned. The symbiote had also come close to death.

      She couldn't ask Kantele to take that risk.

      That left only one possible approach. Maybourne's studies showed what kept a larval Goa'uld alive; if she could get the nutrient feed for an adult correct quickly enough, then there was a reasonable chance that it would produce the same immune boosters that it would when present in a human host. As long as they could get the balance right while there was still time remaining for Rak'nor.

      Even as she mentally ran through the necessary list of minerals and amino acids that would need to be tested, she knew that it would take too long.

      She was tired, so tired. Sitting down, she stared at the computer screen, her eyes focusing almost at random on the medical logo that acted as a header for every document. Something about it was nagging at her. She touched it with a finger.

      "Daniel, tell me."

      "The caduceus? You must be aware of the mythological relevence?"

      "Tell me anyway."

      "This is a fairly abstract representation, but of course it represents the serpents of Æsculapius entwined around the winged rod of Mercury. Obviously the wings on the symbol must actually predate the addition of Mercury to the mythology, as they should be on the serpents, but the association with the god of healing has remained to the present day."

      "It represents a Goa'uld?"

      Daniel blinked. "Of course. I thought everyone knew that. It's the Goa'uld wrapped around the spine of the host."

      "Why the spine?" She answered her own question. "Because there's more nerves and blood vessels. We don't need to mess around with amino acids. Set up an artificial spine with blood flowing through a semi-permeable membrane, and I think the symbiote will wrap around it and help itself to exactly what it needs.


	9. Alone

Maybourne tossed another stone into the ocean. The waves absorbed it without so much as a revealing ripple and continued to lap gently against the beach. The day was cooler than he liked, but not unbearably so, and there was a crispness to the air that suggested it had blown long distances over uninhabited lands. When the wind came from the land, it was different; the smoke of cooking fires added a distinctive edge to the background scents of rotting fish heads and unwashed bodies. At least the tannery was downwind on the far side of the town... The house they were lodging at was about as far upwind of the tannery as you could get - and it was worth every penny. Overall, things were going well. Though he had yet to convert Sunlight to the delights of pickled herring, she seemed willing to eat most other items of local produce.

      Sunlight picked up a stone and tossed it in behind his, so he started looking around for flattish ones and demonstrated how to make one skip on the surface. Sunlight made plenty of unsuccessful attempts, before she finally mastered the knack of throwing the stone sideways like a disc and was rewarded by a definite skip.

      It was even more satisfying than managing a tripple skip himself.

      "Excellent. Here, have another stone." He handed over a waterworn disc of the smooth black shale that mixed in with the other more rounded pebbles on the beach.

      Instead of skipping, this one sliced into the side of a wave.

      "Bad luck," he said. "Here, try another one."

      "What is the purpose of this activity?" asked a high-pitched voice behind him.

      He turned round to glare the Asgard he'd expected. "Oh, you finally decided to put in an appearance then. Got bored of spectating?"

      "You were aware of my presence?"

      "Bit hard to miss you. When you walk on the sand you leave footprints. When you walk on the pebbles, I can hear you."

      Sunlight turned around, stone in hand.

      "No," Maybourne said quickly, "don't throw it. Heimdahl's really here; the stone might hurt him. At least," he looked the Asgard up and down, "I assume you're Heimdahl." The Asgard gave a slow nod in confirmation.

      "Did he magic himself here?" Sunlight asked.

      "Came through the Gate or else transported down from a ship, and then used an invisibility device." He'd love to get his hands on one of those devices. Nirrti's invisibility gadget utilised phase-shift technology, but O'Neill had turned Maybourne's people in before they'd had a chance to study the equivalent Asgard device they'd brought back. Did it operate on a similar principle, or did it use sophisticated hologram technology to present an image that perfectly matched the background? _Hm._ Next time Heimdahl turned it on, he'd have to try tossing some sand at him to see if it passed through or not. Phase-shift technology would probably let unphased matter pass through. He smiled inwardly. Even on this backwater of a planet, there might be some things worth investigating. Getting them back to Earth and to his own reality might prove impossible though.

      "Why do you throw stones into the water?" Heimdahl asked Sunlight.

      "So they go 'splash'."

      "Why do you wish to make them go 'splash'?"

      She took a half-step backwards and looked at him uncertainly.

      "Don't bother with Heimdahl," Maybourne said hastily. "Fairies don't understand games. They're very dull and boring. You and I can throw lots of stones, and then we'll dig a hole." He stooped for a handful of pebbles and chucked them as far out to sea as he could.

      "That is dangerous; you should not throw that many." Heimdahl said, "you might hit Sunlight on Water by mistake."

      The sand was dry above the high-water mark of washed-up seaweed. Maybourne walked up the beach a little way and sat down.

      "Harry?"

      "Play with Heimdahl. He seems to know all about it."

      She tugged at his sleeve. "I don't want to play with him."

      He shook his head. "Sorry, Princess, I'm off the job. Heimdahl doesn't seem to like the way I do things."

      Heimdahl's hands fluttered in distress. "We had an agreement."

      "We did. Now, I can either stick her in a box and shove in food at intervals and recite the dictionary at her through a slot, or I can let her run around and explore and maybe risk falling out of a tree, or getting drowned, or breaking a leg or getting hit by the odd branch or stone. One way is perfectly safe and will produce someone who can recite the dictionary. I don't quite know what the other way will do, but I figure it's more likely to turn out an interesting human being."

      "You said you knew nothing of children," Heimdahl protested.

      "I don't, but I've seen what comes out the other end. I've been an administrator and I've worked with a lot of scientists over the years. There's two types in that field. There are the ones who follow instructions to the letter and do exactly what they're told. They never take any risks, but they make passable button-counters. The other kind are the ones who approach everything sideways. They ask all the wrong questions; they're irritating, arrogant, hate doing paperwork, love bad puns and are as likely to be playing with a mathematical puzzle as to be doing whatever you told them to get on with. They're also the only ones who ever discover anything useful."

      "You are saying...?"

      "She can become either a 'button-counter' or like-"

      He cut himself off sharply, but it was too late - Heimdahl completed his thought.

      "...or like her parents?"

      "Harry?" Sunlight sounded upset.

      Damn, it had been a mistake to mention Jack and Carter, even by implication. "Come here." He pulled her gently into his lap, letting her cling tight even though she was half-choking him. "It's okay, Princess."

      "Why do you call her 'Princess'?" Heimdahl asked.

      For a moment, he thought he was going to lose it completely. The alien had a gift for the irrelevent that ignored everything of importance. He held onto his temper for Sunlight's sake and replied: "Because I choose to do so.

      "Now, listen," he continued deliberately. "You will stop asking questions that upset Sunlight. If you don't know what will upset her, then don't say anything at all. Secondly, you will stop undermining my authority. You want to argue with me? Fine, but you do it when she's asleep. Otherwise, there's too many chiefs and not enough Indians."

      Heimdahl looked at him with large sorrowful eyes. "I will consider your request. Will it distress her if I refer to the portal between the realities?"

      "The quantum mirror? You can refer to it as long as you don't mention anyone who has passed through it."

      "Then you should know, Harold Maybourne, the portal has been destroyed at the request of the Aesir. Should Replicators locate such a portal, they would invade all the realities. We cannot allow that to happen."

       _Destroyed. Better make a life here and now, Harry. I don't think you or Sunlight are ever going to see home again._

      

 _Harry,_       

 _I talked to Myra today. I had to talk to someone. She's so wonderfully sensible -- I knew she'd be able to help. I didn't tell her everything. I didn't tell her who you were. That worried her, I know it did. She said if I was afraid to say who you were, then it sounded like a clear case of abuse to her. I think I finally convinced her that were other reasons -- well, she stopped asking eventually. How could I tell her who you are? If the Aesir ever found out, what would happen to Earth then?_       

 _Myra kept asking if I was pregnant. I said nothing of that kind had happened between us. I'm not sure if she believed that, not at first anyway. I got quite cross. I said you hadn't._       

 _She said why was I so upset, if you haven't done anything? I said I didn't know, and then I started crying again._       

 _Eventually, she said: Cassandra, I think I'm coming at this from the wrong angle. Are you upset because he made a pass at you, or because he lied to you? If he had lied about something different, would it have upset you just as much?_       

 _Well, of course it would._       

 _I tried to explain it to her, but I'm not sure I made very good sense. If someone lies to you, how can they really be your friend? You only lie to people you don't trust or to people you don't respect._       

 _Myra said, would you tell someone if they were dying of cancer? I said yes. If someone asks, then they have the right to know._       

 _She said how about national security? I said, if two people really loved one another then they should share everything._       

 _She asked if I was still in love with you._       

 _I said I've never been in love with you, just... I'm not going to say it. You don't deserve it._       

 _Finally, she said: Cassandra, whoever he is, I don't think I like him at all, but there is one possibility you may not have considered. She called Major Kawalski from the next room and asked him what the age of consent was in Colorado. He looked blank for a moment and then said, Sixteen?_       

 _Myra said: That's probably the commonest age across most of the States. Some are higher, a few lower._       

 _He asked her why she wanted to know. She said it was just a bet she had with me. She said men from another state always remembered the laws of the state they grew up in, if they remembered anything at all. She likes to have a dig at men sometimes, but he know she doesn't mean any harm by it. When he'd gone, she said to me: That may be your answer. I can't tell you. You could ask your friend, but you'll never know if he's telling you the truth about that either. She held my hand and said: Life isn't all black and white and easy answers. But I knew that already. You entrusted me with the black parts of yourself. You asked me to believe that there was more to you than that. And I did. Maybe I still do._       

      

_'Dear Daddy_ ' Sunlight could write that part of the letter for herself now. The letters were big and sloppy and barely recognisable, but for a kid of four Maybourne reckoned she was doing pretty well.

      Convention had established that he had to write the next sentence. "What do you want me to put?"

      Sunlight thought about that while posing her doll. It wasn't much of a doll; his woodworking skills were pretty well zero. Sunlight had seemed to appreciate the effort, though he suspected that his handiwork hadn't really passed muster when compared with Barbie. You couldn't win them all. It was easier to wire up a surveillance camera than to carve a realistic head for a doll.

      "Tell Daddy I played with Sven and he's good at climbing trees."

      He wrote as ordered. "Can you tell which word is 'Sven'? What sound does it begin with?"

      "Why don't you write to anyone?"

      As attempts at distraction went, it was pretty blatant.

      "There's no one I want to write to. What sound does 'Sven' begin with?"

      "Why?" she persisted. "Why don't you write to your friends?"

      He sighed and gave up the educational struggle for the day. "I don't have any."

      "Why?"

      He reminded himself, carefully, that it was only yesterday he'd been arguing with Heimdahl that curiosity was a good thing in children.

      "People in my profession don't have friends."

      "Why?"

      She had an unfair advantage. All she had to do was keep saying 'why'.

       _Because we lie to people, we spy on people and we manipulate people. In the end, the lie becomes so natural that you assume it without thinking. You trust no one and no one trusts you. And then, when you least expect it and least deserve it, along comes someone who makes that blind leap of faith and sees something in you that you'd forgotten even existed._

      "You want to know about friends? Be very careful whom you count as a friend. Most people are just out for what they can get, and you have to play the same game. Never trust people unless you have a hold over them. Mistrust anyone who tells you everything's fine - they're trying to manipulate you, or else they're afraid of you." He was probably beyond her level of comprehension, but what the hell, he had to try and warn her. "Avoid people who make easy promises; they won't keep them. Don't make promises yourself, then you can't be held to them. Avoid emotional entanglements; anyone you care about can be used against you."

      She edged away from him slightly, probably reacting to the coldness of his voice. _Sorry, Princess, but it's true. Look what happened to your father - your real father, not the Jack I know. My Jack nearly couldn't do it either. He'll torture himself until his dying day, because he couldn't find a way to keep you safe by his side._

       _This isn't 'Little Orphan Annie'. I'm not about to change who and what I am, not even for you. There might be times when I'd like to, but the older I get, the harder it is to have faith in anyone or anything. Then again, there's always the exception that proves the rule._

      He modulated his voice, tried to make it more welcoming. "Hey, Princess. It's okay. There are some people out there that can be trusted, and your dad's one of them." _And what happens when the day comes and Sunlight realises she isn't really getting letters from her father, that you're lying to her about that? Or are the letters simply truth in another form? The truth is that Jack would write if he were able to. The truth is that he loves her._

       _The truth is that Sunlight is coming to trust you. You could take her love, turn it towards yourself. You'd have to work at it: she's already learned that people she loves will die or abandon her, but you could do it. You could have someone who loves you..._

       _And when she reaches Cassie's age, will you have the guts to tell her the truth? Not the story that you're already editing every time you tell it to her, but the raw, unvarnished version of who you are and what you did. Or by then, will you be too much the coward?_

      "Why don't you write to Cassie?" Sunlight asked.

      Was that insight on her part, or simply a child's assumption that anyone they both knew had to be a friend? Probably the latter.

      "Because I don't know what to say."

       _What would be the point? You'll never see her again. Thinking about her merely fuels fantasies that were impossible in the first place. Accept the miracle that she saw a human being where everyone else sees a traitor, and leave it at that._

       _There are women here that you can have; there's a reason why they call it the oldest profession. Once Sunlight settles enough to sleep on her own, you'll be able to scratch that particular itch. What does it matter if they can't give you everything you desire? Play along when they pretend to enjoy your company. Pretend a whore isn't faking it when she responds to your touch. Imagine it's real when she says she doesn't want you to go._

      Damn Cassandra. _I could enjoy the fake until she came along and reminded me that there was something better. I can't have her; the odds are that I never could have had her; but that doesn't stop me wanting her._

       _Cas, do you love me?_

       _If I were twenty years younger, would you love me then?_

       _Thirty years younger?_


	10. Possibilities

O'Neill ran a finger along the bookshelf touching the linen and leather binding of the dozens of ancient volumes that rubbed shoulders with an assorted collection of modern paperbacks and hardbacks. He had a couple of antique books at home: a copy of Longfellow's poems, that his grandmother had loved, bound in exquisitely tooled red leather; and an old atlas with a heavy brass clasp that had caught his eye one day and seduced him into spending an extortionate sum to allow him to look through its pages and explore a world at once both familiar and delightfully different.

      Daniel's apartment was crammed with books on every available shelf and on the floor when shelves ran out, but even when they were things of beauty, O'Neill suspected that they were loved for their content rather than their looks. To Daniel, words in an old book came alive and spoke to him of other times and places.

       _I think you're wrong,_ Kantele said _. I bet he'd far rather touch an original book than a modern reprint - it's that sense of connection with the past. A book isn't just words, it tells you about the people who made it: the paper-maker, the printer, the book-binder; and the materials they used are all part of the story._

       _Who's known Danel longest?_ O'Neill demanded.

       _Whose memories am I seeing him through? We could always ask him..._

       _And risk getting a three hour description of how papyrus was manufactured?_

       _Good point._

      They grabbed a set of Northern European dictionaries almost at random and sat down on an overstuffed chair beside a tank of tropical fish: the same fish that had followed Daniel every time he'd had to move apartment in order to accommodate his growing research collections. Right now, the tank contained a large angel fish and a shoal of little fish that looked as though they had blue and red strip lights running along their bodies. The sound of the bubbles coming out of the air pump was oddly relaxing, some slight comfort when faced with the enthralling prospect of several hours of non-stop translation.

      Daniel returned from the kitchen alcove bearing mugs of coffee.

      "The first thing we have to do," he said, setting down O'Neill's mug on a small table resting on top of three Indian elephants, is to determine whether we keep the text in the original Asgard runes or whether we recopy it into the Latin alphabet.

      "It's not Latin," O'Neill objected. "I know Latin."

      "Yes, yes," Daniel said, "I know you do. I meant the alphabet, not the language."

       **"Pros and cons. It'd take us forever to copy the whole thing out in another alphabet."**

      "But it may be easier for you and Jack to compare uncertain words with their closest Scandinavian equivalent if they're in the same alphabet. Especially if we need to go back to the more archaic forms of language in the sagas."

       **"I'll take the sagas,"** Kantele said quickly. You could almost feel him salivate.

       _What's so great about sagas, apart from their length?_

       _Battle, murder, dragons, heroes, action, adventure - are you getting the picture?_

      He was - in glorious Technicolour. Kantele was painting images, broad epics of the mind, and rolling over them all, the measured syllables of the bard telling of deeds of valour.

       **"I've got a lot of this stuff in memory. The Aesir protected worlds are nice places to visit; most of the languages are related to one another and they all have aspects of the Aesir tongue."**

      "That's good," Daniel said, "because I'm not too good on any of them."

      "I thought you spoke everything - except Latin."

      "I can get by," Daniel said, slightly nettled. "Jack, you always expect me to translate everything inside of five minutes whether it's something like Coptic that I know inside out, or a language that I've never even seen before. The important thing is to understand the structure and the rules. When you have that, you can work out whether two superficially similar words are actually the same word in a different tense or case, or whether they derive from a common root, or whether they're completely independent. If I've understood Kantele correctly, then he's a language user rather than a linguist."

      "What's the difference?" O'Neill said. "If he can speak it, then he understands it." __

      "You're the one who gets pedantic about English grammar."

      "No way."

      "To who could I state that the desire to accurately articulate is exactly what you're at?"

      O'Neill stared at him in semi-shock. "You bastard!" That made one split infinitive, one missing 'whom' and a sentence ending in a preposition.

      Daniel took a measured sip from his coffee. "We're agreed that grammatical structure is important then?"

      O'Neill sighed. "Where do you want us to start?"

      

      

In the calm, pine-scented, evening air, it was possible to pick out the additional smells of oil from human machinery and of smoke from Jaffa cooking fires. It was quiet here on the hillside: a peaceful kind of quiet that came from the tiny, almost unheard, sound of a moth's flight or of a small mammal scurrying past in the undergrowth. An unseen bird called in a strange rattling voice that Teal'c recalled from another time on another world.

      "Do you remember?" he asked Bra'tac.

      "Yes. You were young then, but you learnt well."

      Chulak and the lessons of his youth were a lifetime away, but this world was like it in many ways. The yellow sun rising over the hills in the early morning, slanting its light across tall, waving, grasses and running water; the way the deer ran fleet before the hunter; these were things that he understood. When he was a boy, he would have said that the gods had created all worlds and thus they had all good things in common. Later, he would have claimed that the Goa'uld terraformed them all to make them capable of supporting human slave populations. Now, he suspected that the Ancients had brought life to many of them even before the Goa'uld. This world, Alpha site, as General Hammond called it, or Shangri La as some of the SGC had informally named it, was not on any list of Gate addresses known to the Goa'uld. It had never been touched by their hand.

      Here, perhaps, the Jaffa were safe. In their own tongue they called it Taknow, the place of final refuge. If they were driven from here, there would be nowhere left to go.

      Bra'tac stood, leaning on his staff weapon, gazing down at the river that flowed fast and shallow over the multi-coloured pebbles in its bed. "Now," he said, "you must remain and teach others. You must become their leader."

      "I must return to the SGC," Teal'c said. "I have sworn myself to the service of the Tau'ri."

      "No more. O'Neill is no longer with your SG-1. Major Carter will not remain long."

      "She will," Teal'c objected. "She is to command. Even now, General Hammond is considering which of their warriors should join us."

      Bra'tac shook his head. "She will not remain, even though you follow their customs and serve under her. Look into her eyes. Do you think she will serve on other worlds when her mate remains on Earth?"

      "O'Neill will not demand this of her."

      "I did not say he will demand; she will choose this for herself."

      "And Daniel Jackson?"

      "What is his calling?"

      Teal'c considered that thoughtfully. The Daniel Jackson he had first known had been driven by his desire to find his wife, Sha're. After her death, he had determined to continue the fight against the Goa'uld. But what was the heart of the man? How did he best follow the Way? What was his true path through the universe?

      "Master Bra'tac," he said finally, "Daniel Jackson is a bridge between peoples. He creates understanding."

      Bra'tac nodded in confirmation. He pointed his staff weapon down into the encampment, down among the tents and pre-fabricated buildings. "His place is here. Our people are dependent on the Tau'ri for supplies and weapons, but few of them speak our language and only you are fluent in theirs. There is already resentment and misunderstanding; soon, fights will break out. The Tau'ri speak disrespectfully to our women; they insult our warriors; and many of them are unhappy that Hammond of Texas chose to give us refuge here. Daniel Jackson understands our customs. He is a bridge, and he is needed so that those who seek to overthrow the Goa'uld will work together rather then in opposition."

      Teal'c bowed his head in recognition. "I will speak with him regarding this. If my calling is here, then I will ask him to accompany me."

      They started slowly towards the encampment, walking softly through the late evening as the air cooled further and insect-hunting bats flew in quick, darting paths over the bushes near the water. From inside one of the tents, a woman's voice sang a lullaby to her baby: an old lament for those carried away into captivity. For a hundred generations they had been slaves to the Goa'uld, but before that, their ancestors had been free.

      It was time to remember that freedom and to fight for it.

      

Jack moved the beer glass acting as a paperweight on the pile of printed sheets on the coffee table and pulled out one covered in pencilled annotations.

      "What do you make of this section? Kantele thinks it relates to agreements regarding repatriating prisoners of war, but I don't think the Asgard have war among themselves."

      Daniel looked over the marked section and consulted one of the dictionaries he'd brought round with him. It was easier when he was at home with all his reference books to hand, but today was Tuesday so they were at Jack's place.

      "I think the implication is that when hostilities are over, all those held by either side are returned without prejudice, but if you interpret this line slightly differently, then it suggests that a payment of some kind might have to be made for each prisoner."

       **"It could be very old legislation from a less peaceful time in their past, or it could have been developed to cover situations when they've been fighting the Goa'uld."**

      It really hung on the precise meaning of the word. Each of the Scandinavian languages cast hints on translating Asgard - though none of them were an exact match, he'd found Swedish to be the most useful. Passing Jack the Norwegian volume, he started checking Swedish. They turned pages in the now familiar routine of checking for all words that might be similar phonetically or could derive from the same root. Date of first reference was particularly useful. The older the word, the closer its relationship generally was to the Asgard language.

      Jack started listing options in methodical columns, each Norwegian word paired with its possible meanings in English. His hand was neat and precise, each letter printed rather than written. It had grown neater with every session, especially ones where they'd had to refer back to illegible notes taken early on. 

      Every so often, he'd pause and write something in a separate column in a diffent hand. It was always interesting to read Kantele's notes, they derived from everything from nursery rhymes to epic ballads. Their actual usefulness varied. Ballads rarely included legal technicalities, but it was surprising what they threw up on occasion. Take his latest comment; the concept of ransom was dealt with in the tale of a Nordic hero captured by the ettins. That might be useful, but the problem, as always, lay in getting from the general to the specific. Something as basic as the order of two words could make a serious difference to the way in which they were interpreted.

      Another twenty minutes and then they would take a break to watch _The Simpsons_. Jack allowed himself that one concession, said it helped him garner enough mental strength to tackle another page of Asgard legalese. Through dead ends, mistranslations, multiple definitions and writer's cramp, they'd keep going. Whenever Jack reached snapping point with frustration and boredom, he'd pick up a photograph and lose himself for a few minutes in his daughter's smile. Then, usually with a muttered curse, he'd pick up another page of runes and start work all over again.

      It was long, it was slow, and Daniel hoped with all his heart that it wouldn't all be for nothing.

      

      

"Cassie, have you finished your homework yet?"

      Cassandra paused a brief second in the doorway. "I'll do it later. Promised Marie I'd help her make her mom's birthday cake."

      Janet flung her hands out in despair. "You've got to hand it in tomorrow."

      "Don't fuss. I'll be okay." The door closed with a bang and she was running, brown hair streaming behind her, off down the drive.

      Janet stabbed a finger at Sam, who looked suspiciously as though she might be about to laugh. "You wait. You'll be a parent one day." Running her fingers through her hair, she added: "Was the other Cassandra this bad?"

      Sam followed her into the lounge and took an armchair before replying. "She was older, quieter. She'd seen too much. I think she missed you so much that she was afraid to even think about you. I often wonder how she's doing. I wonder about Sunlight too."

      Janet too a chair opposite her and curled comfortably into it. "How's Jack coping?"

      "He dreams about Sunlight. Kantele does too. I still can't get used to that."

      "Well, it's bound to be strange having two minds in one body."

      "It isn't that. It's the way they need me. I'm so used to him being the strong one."

       _Now that was ridiculous._ "Sam Carter, you are one of the strongest women I have ever known."

      Sam's fingers formed abstract shapes in the air, as though trying to articulate something that she had difficulty putting into words. "They need me emotionally. They're coping with a loss that I'm still having difficulty relating to. I barely knew Sunlight, but Jack formed this instant bond with her and Kantele's known her most of her life."

      Janet leaned forward, stretched out a hand towards her friend. "Are you sure that's all there is to it? I mean how are they adapting to one another? I never saw Jack as the Tok'ra type."

      Sam bit her lower lip. "That's the odd thing really - it works. Mostly."

      Janet tilted her head, inviting further comment, but Sam changed the subject.

      "I saw Dad yesterday with Malik. How many Tok'ra does that make now?"

      She totted up on her fingers. "There were three on PK4-8X7. Two contacted us from Chulak. Jacob says he knows of one working undercover for Morrigan and another for Bastet. Then there's the woman who arrived with Malik-" She stopped abruptly. "Sam, why do you want to know?"

      Sam fidgeted in her seat. "Nothing."

      If that was nothing, then there was a colony of flying monkeys flapping around the room. She held out a box of candied fruit that a grateful patient had given her last week. 

      Sam hesitated, picked out a lime. "If Jack and- Forget I said that."

      Janet slowly completed the sentence in her own mind. _If Jack and Kantele wanted to separate,_ _how many Tok'ra would be needed for them both to survive?_

      

      

"It's all Rs," Jack said.

      "Rs?" Daniel asked.

      "Restitution. Reparations. Repatriation. Rights of individuals. Relativity."

      "I'm not sure I follow you on that last one..."

       **"To the Aesir all values are relative. Legal penalties are imposed to match the scale of values of the person being charged."**

      "Ah." _Trust Jack to use a totally wrong word to make sense in an odd sort of way._ "As in they'd punish an art collector by taking his prize Monet rather than fining him cash."

       **"It appears to work like that. The concept of 'Värde' is related to their concept of balance and ties into what a thing is worth to you personally."**

       It was an odd system all round. The more he read, the more he was beginning to see the overall patterns, but he was no closer to seeing a solution to the basic problem. The legal basis for some kind of deal could possibly be established, but might require something that was as valuable to the Asgard as Sunlight was to Jack.

      What could you offer to a race that already had everything?

      Sam slipped through the door with a beer for Jack and a lemonade for Daniel which she placed silently on the table in front of them. He appreciated her lack of questions. 'How's it going?' could only have an answer in the negative. Jack held out a hand to her as she turned to leave, and she came to him, leant over the back of his chair and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He tilted his head back to touch his cheek to hers, a gesture touching in its quiet affection.

      Daniel watched, debating whether this was a good time to raise the issue that he'd been putting off all week.

      "Daniel?" Jack, sharp-eyed as ever, had caught his uncertainty. "Whatever it is, spit it out."

      "I, uh... I was talking to Teal'c. His people need him. With Kytano dead, they've no clear leader and Bra'tac is too old. Teal'c hasn't yet made a decision, but he asked me if I'd be willing to move out to the Alpha site. The Jaffa badly need an interpreter."

      "But what about-" ****

       Whatever Jack had been going to say was cut off by the ring of his cellphone. A moment later Daniel's went off too. Then Sam's.

      That could only mean one thing...

      

      

Events of the next hour were to remain forever etched in O'Neill's memory. Straight from one kind of stress into another, but this was one he could handle, one he was trained for. Something tangible, something that he'd fought before, something that he could shoot at.

      Replicators. Everywhere. Metallic bodies skittering over the floor and walls in an endless flow of black. An arachnophobic's nightmare.

      Weapons from the armoury; Daniel and Carter right behind him. Teal'c in the corridor, already part of the fight along with SG-3, laying down steady fire and covering one another as they fell back under the assault.

      Move, cover, fire.

      Still not knowing where the replicators were coming from, firing at the mechanical spiders, disintegrating them only to see even more come around the corner. Too much metal on the base, too much for them to feed on.

      Move, fire, move again.

      Fighting his way to the control room by pure instinct to try to find Hammond.

      Looking down into the Gate room to see a young woman with replicators following her every gesture, and MacKenzie, talking to her, pleading with her.

      Sergeant Davis telling him that the base auto-destruct was running with minutes to go, that the girl was an android, that she'd created the replicators herself, that they obeyed her.

      Seeing the replicators slow as MacKenzie bought a moment's breathing space, then sprinting frantically down the stairs, feet clattering on every step, into the Gate room and firing reflexively at the android.

      Watching the world freeze into slow motion as she fell, standing there staring at her as his thinking mind unfroze and caught up with the part of him that had been acting without any need for conscious deliberation.

       _Jack... Are you thinking what I'm thinking?_

       _She controlled replicators_

       _and the Aesir's number one headache is_ -

       _Replicators._

      

      It is possible that Doctor MacKenzie lost sleep wondering why Colonel O'Neill suddenly clapped his hands in the air, shouted 'Yes!' and waltzed out of the Gate room singing ' _We're off to see the wizard_ ', but he was used to the eccentricities of certain SGC personnel and he knew a happy man when he saw one. 


	11. Aesir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the real chapter 11. The bug with chapter 8 has been solved with the aid of the AO3 support team. If you haven't already read chapter 8 (which was unavailable for a while), then make sure you do so before reading any further.

O'Neill looked around the vast amphitheatre and did his best to appear relaxed.

      "Nice place."

      Light shining in his eyes obscured all occupants of the banks of seating. They might be filled with tens of thousands, or they could be totally empty.

      "Could use a bit of work on the decor. Touch of paint; couple of throws."

      From a high bench, three Asgard looked down at him: grey faces calm, their large eyes unblinking.

      "Colonel O'Neill. Kantele. You wish to present a case before this court?" The language was English, the accent flawless, the voice Thor's.

      "Yeah. See this?" He held up a videotape. "I have something that you need."

      "We will see it." The tape sparkled in his hand, vanished.

      "Hey!"

      "Do not be afraid O'Neill."

      "Who's afraid?" he demanded.

       _Don't know about you, but I'm petrified..._

      Thor had warned them it would be difficult, warned them to avoid complicating the issue further by bringing parallel realities into the arena of law. He'd also made it clear that the portal in Ma'chello's lab would be destroyed within a few days. If this appeal didn't work, they would never be able to make another attempt.

      A two-dimensional image appeared opposite the bench, projected onto apparent thin air. A view of a lab in the SGC where a female android sat talking to Doctor MacKenzie.

      "I went to sleep," she said, "and when your people woke me, everyone was dead."

      The tape moved on from clip to clip, MacKenzie reporting his doubts that she was telling the truth, the android growing increasingly frustrated at not being allowed outside her room.

      The Asgard sat silent, showing no observable sign of either interest or impatience.

      The tape moved to the first of the key sequences.

      "Watch carefully," O'Neill said. "Watch her hands."

      The android picked up a pair of scissors and closed her hands over them. When she re-opened them, she was holding a small metal flower. She placed it on the table and smiled happily at her creation.

      "This is beyond your technology," said the one that he thought might be Freyr.

      "Wait," O'Neill said. "It gets so much better."

      When MacKenzie reappeared, the flower was offered as a gift, but his question as to how she'd made it was obviously not what she'd wanted. Like a petulant child, she threw a tantrum.

      In the next clip, she moulded a handful of paper-clips into a replicator part.

      Freyr tilted his head towards his neighbour. "Vad jag skulle vilja veta är var den kommer ifrån och vem som gjorde den."

       _They want to know where the android came from and who made it._

       _Now there's a surprise._

      The tape played on. Replicators ran amok through the SGC and O'Neill caught a sight of himself coming round a corner. Did he really look like that when wearing shooting glasses?

      The tape ended as he shot the android in the Gate room and replicators, caught on other cameras all over the base, disintegrated.

      He took a deep breath. They'd run through it with Thor, tested every possible argument on him and only one had Thor even considered. The Asgard were tied by their own laws, refused to bend or break them simply for their own convenience. They couldn't do a prisoner exchange as Sunlight was not a prisoner of war. She could not be redeemed as there was no debt involved.

       **"The treaty between Earth and the Aesir that was signed by Colonel O'Neill was broken. It was broken because he valued the life of his daughter more than his oath. As a result of the restoration of the treaty, the Aesir suffered losses at the hand of the replicators. Colonel O'Neill wishes to offer restitution by giving you something that may aid in the fight against the replicators."**

      It was loaded with holes. Thor had explained that restitution normally only applied to injury caused by the original crime, not by the payment of the penalty for it.

      "What does he offer?" Freyr asked.

      "You can have the android. It's worth as much to you as my daughter is to me."

      "You value her as highly as a weapon capable of threatening the existence of the Aesir?"

      "Yes."

      "We will consider what you have said."

      The lights went out and he was alone in a three foot circle of vision.

      

      

By unspoken agreement, they'd gravitated to Teal'c's room in order to be alone together until O'Neill returned. Daniel sat in an armchair which had never been properly introduced to the concept of padding; Teal'c occupied one of the ubiquitous plastic chairs and Sam sprawled on the bed, ignoring the roughness of the standard-issue blanket. She'd tried more than once to brighten the place up, offered Teal'c posters and quilts and some decent chairs, but he honestly didn't seem bothered. He appeared remarkably free of vanity, apparently feeling no need to do anything beyond keeping his quarters neat and clean.

      Staring up at the ceiling, her eyes traced imaginary patterns in the concrete. If the Magellanic Clouds were over there, then the home galaxy of the Asgard would be somewhere just above Daniel's head, which would make the Asgard homeworld and O'Neill an awfully long way away.

      "We should be with him," she said.

      Daniel started down at the floor as though he felt in some way to blame. "The Codex was pretty clear in that regard. Only those who are directly involved in a case may appear before the court."

      "No lawyers?"

      "I'm not sure that they have any. Everyone has to represent himself."

      "That isn't just," she said. "Not everyone has equal knowledge of the law."

      Daniel propped his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together. "I think the Asgard do. Kantele said they're all clones. When they're about to die, they clone their own body and transfer the memories to the clone. They have lifetimes of experience to learn everything."

      A bit like the Tok'ra. And how many lifetimes of experience did it take for a symbiote to work out a way of handling his feelings for the daughter of a former host?

      And how long did it take the daughter of the former host to work out her exact feelings towards the symbiote in question?

      "Sam?"

      She jerked out of her reverie. "Sorry, I was thinking about Kantele. I need to..." She and Jack had said farewell: no fuss, no histrionics, just a simple embrace that said all they needed to say. Then he'd dipped his head and Kantele had offered his hands. She'd hesitated a moment and seen the look of regret in Kantele's eyes. So she'd reached for him too and tried to let the emotions free, to express what she felt for him as a friend, because there was always the chance that this would be the last time she would touch him.

      Unspoken between all three of them was the knowledge that this joining had come about because of Sunlight. If Sunlight was restored to her father, what then? The bond between Tok'ra and host was close, but it wasn't unbreakable.

      Teal'c was watching her, saying nothing in his usual way, but offering emotional support none the less. The four of them had been a unit for five years, but Jack's departure had broken the formal structure of SG-1. Did that make them any less friends? No.

      If only it was that simple with Jack and Kantele. In the last month, she'd seen the two of them grow into one another. They swopped bad jokes, they cheated at cards, they rooted for different hockey teams while avidly watching every game they could, and they both loved her.

      If it hadn't been for Jolinar... If it hadn't been for Jolinar, maybe she could have coped, maybe she could have found her way back to that precarious balance that she and Jack had maintained for so long, loving one another but avoiding all physical expression of that love. Taking it slowly, step by step, it should have been possible to gently erode Kantele's barriers without causing anyone pain. She'd promised to do that.

      Jolinar's legacy was naqadah. Now, there was naqadah in Jack's body as well as in her own and it called to her. Jolinar was dead, and Martouf/Lantash too, but the fragments of her memory left behind insisted that this was what a lover tasted like, that this was how it should be to make love to two beings at the same time: no hesitation, no reservations, just the incredible intensity that such a relationship could bring...

      It was getting harder and harder to hold back. Her body knew what it wanted: Jack, touching her, tasting her, caressing her with those fantastic hands of his. She wanted his mouth on hers, his naked body pressed against her, and his seed bursting into her. Knowing that he wanted the same thing just made it worse.

      Kantele loved her - already knew her well enough to pick up the signs - and had to know Jack's frustration as well. If they didn't manage to resolve this, then someday Kantele would make the offer to try and find another host. He would do it because he loved her and because he loved Jack. And it would break his heart.

      Touching Kantele then, she'd felt a premonition of loss and understood at last how her mother had felt every time her father was sent away on Air Force duties. She'd kissed him lightly on the cheek as her mother had always kissed her father, because that was what it meant to be Air Force. No fuss, no histronics. You saw your men off and you never let them down by acting as though they might not come back.

       __

There was frost on the window, each small pane of glass had a dense tracery that reminded Maybourne of winters in Iowa when he was a boy. There'd been pictures in the patterns: ferns and forests. All you had to do was look, to see a new world. Then you breathed on the glass, melting a circle with your breath, or, if it was really cold, thawing it by rubbing with your fingers so that you could look outside and see the world all limned in bright, sharp-edged white. 

      Once he'd grown up, the game had lost its interest and central heating had long ago removed the frost patterns in any case. Maybe, when Sunlight woke from her tightly-curled sleep, he'd show her how to melt patterns and write her name with her fingers on the glass. _Let the Sunlight melt away the frost._

      An odd zip of sound caused him to turn over in the bed. There by the door stood Heimdahl, stark naked as ever, but showing no sign of discomfort even though his breath made clouds in the cold air.

      "If you must disturb a man first thing in the morning," Maybourne said, "you could at least start a fire going."

      Heimdahl raised his hand and a clear stone set into the palm glowed. Around him, the air warmed to a temperature reminiscent of a mild summer's day. Maybourne felt Sunlight relax against him as the heat stole under the blankets and eased her sleep. Sighing in acceptance of the inevitable, he clambered out of bed, taking care not to awaken her, and stood up to face Heimdahl.

      "What is it this time? A philosophical discussion on child-rearing? More irritating interference in my life? An execution order?"

      "The latter, Harold Maybourne."

      "What?" _That sounded stupid. Bad move._

      "The High Council of the Aesir has judged that Sunlight on Water is to be returned to her father. You are no longer required." Was he imagining it, or was there a hint of sympathy in Heimdahl's voice? Not that it really made any difference. Dead was dead, no matter how you looked at it. And just when he was actually starting to get used to this place.

      "So, going to do it now? Or do you prefer the formal approach? Electric chair? Lethal injection? I hope you're not too original in your methods. I'd hate it to be painful."

      "When we return to Asgard."

      "I see." He contemplated the merit of making a break for it and discarded the idea almost immediately: Heimdahl always knew where to find him. Instead, he opened the linen chest and fetched his uniform out from the bottom where it lay beneath layers of other clothes. It didn't look too bad when he shook it out; the fabric resisted creasing surprisingly well.

      "Why do you choose to wear that?" Heimdahl asked.

      "I can't think of a more formal occasion than dying." _Because it makes it easier to act with dignity. Then again, give me a way to escape and I can easily dispense with dignity. Better a live jackal than a dead lion._

      "By committing treason, you betrayed your own people. Wearing their costume will not lead us to believe that you represent them in any way."

       _For the last time, I didn't betray them. Okay, in retrospect, it was stupid, but everyone's wise after the event. How come when I buck the system I get screwed, but when Jack does it he gets a medal? Luck of the draw, I guess._ He spread the jacket out on the bed while he looked for cleanish underwear.

      "Harry?" Sunlight sat up in bed, looking bleary in her crumpled nightie.

      "Morning, Princess. You're going home." The words caught awkwardly in his throat.

      She looked at him, eyes wide, uncertain.

      "Back to your dad. See, I told you he'd manage to rescue you." Pity Jack didn't have enough smarts to get him out as well. Well, now was the time to look after number one.

      "Daddy?" Sunlight's hand clutched tight to Teddy Blue.

      "This time it's for real." He hoped to God that was the truth. If Heimdahl was screwing her up, there was nothing at all that he could do about it. "Come on, let's get you dressed and looking nice."

      "That is not necessary," Heimdahl said. "Her father will not be concerned with her appearance."

      Did the Asgard have females? Maybourne strongly doubted it, or they would understand that vanity came with the genes.

      "She," he pointed for emphasis, "wants to look her best. And you are going to give her privacy while she gets dressed." _And while I get dressed for that matter, and while I try to figure out anything that might allow me to get out of this alive._

      

      

The dim spotlight was just bright enough for O'Neill to find something to eat in his backpack.

       _Do we have to ?_ Kantele asked as he glanced at the MRE.

       _You got any better ideas to pass the time?_

       _I spy?_

       _You have a mental age of about six._

       _Must be the company I keep._

      Bantering with Kantele was better than doing nothing. _How about 'twenty questions'?_

      He'd just failed to guess 'pink elephant' when the light brightened and a second spotlight came on, picking out Thor.

      "Well?"

      "Is that a question?" Thor asked in his gentle voice.

      "What else did you think it was?"

      "Where is the android?"

      "Well, that gets kind of tricky, seeing as I left it at home. You - the other you - needs it pretty badly. There's another one in this reality; I already checked. I've got the Gate address."

      The light followed Thor as he took a step forward and held out his hand.

      "Wait a minute..."

      "You must trust me, O'Neill."

      The vast echoless room stretched out around him. What did he really know about the race that had built it? Carter might be capable of understanding something of their science, Daniel their culture. All O'Neill had to go on was instinct. He liked Thor; end of story.

      With an inward flinch, he handed over the paper with the Gate address written on it.

      

      

The MRE (chicken and two veg) had been followed by an energy bar and strong black coffee. O'Neill's fingers tapped a rough tattoo on the empty carton.

       _Tic tac toe?_

       _I know how to win at that._

       _Three dimensional? It's either that or run around in circles screaming 'Where the hell is_ she?'.

       _She'll be all right,_ O'Neill said as much to convince himself as Kantele. _Maybourne said he'd take care of her._

       _You trust him?_

       _Mostly. Against my better judgement._

       _You think Thor will convince the Council?_

       _I have no idea._

      

      

       __The bench lit up to reveal the High Council. Whether they had left and come back again or had simply held discussions while cutting him off from sight and sound of them, O'Neill had no idea. The whole set up struck him as surreal, like some kind of conceptual art. There was a faint scent of sage in the air, and it set him on edge: for some reason, it reminded him of the Gulf War and things that he prefered not to remember.

      "We are in accord," Freyr said.

      A low echoing sound rang around the echoless amplitheatre, as of a giant gong. The notes wavered into silence even as the ear strained to catch the precise moment when they finally faded out of hearing.

      "Judgement has been determined."

      Not sage any more, but pine resin, and a far off suggestion of smoke from a forest fire.

      A third spotlight snapped on, and a fourth.

      In the third, stood the motionless form of the android.

      In the fourth...

      

      

Sunlight clung tightly to his hand as Maybourne took in the scene around him with its spotlit highlights. He didn't recognise any of the judges, but then the Asgard, apart from Heimdahl, all looked the same in any case. There had to be something here that he could use to his advantage, but for the life of him, he could not see what. No visible exit, nowhere to run in that vast open space, nothing except Jack - who was unarmed. He checked his jacket pocket in the slight hope that the knife he'd secreted on Svenska was still there, but it wasn't. All that remained were the letters he'd brought for Jack.

      Jack took a half-step forward. "Sunlight," he said, with the voice of a drowning man who finally sees the lifeboat approaching. He went down on one knee with his arms held wide in welcome.

      She moved forward in response to his voice, tugging Maybourne after her, only to stop as they came up against some kind of force barrier.

      "Daddy?" Her voice wavered.

      "Wait," Maybourne said hastily. He picked her up, sensing her panic, and wanting to stop her going frantic fighting the barrier. After a month, his hold had some security value for her, even if he wasn't Jack. "The fairies have just got to sort a few things out."

      On cue, the Asgard seated in the centre of the bench began to speak.

      "A consensus has been reached in accordance with the law. Restitution has been accepted for the crime committed by Colonel O'Neill. The android is deemed acceptable in this regard. Sunlight O'Neill will be returned to her father."

      "And Maybourne as well," O'Neill said pointedly.

      Sunlight wriggled in his arms, trying to escape. Jack's eyes kept flicking between her and the bench, his distress clearly evident to anyone who knew him.

      "You cannot make restitution for the crime of another," the Asgard said. "Only the convicted can do that."

      "Fine. I give him half the android. He can make restitution with his half."

      That had to be some android. What did it do anyway? Chess? Kinky sex? Fight like Schwartzneger?

      "That is not acceptable." The grey face was devoid of all emotion.

      "What happens to Maybourne?" Jack asked.

      Maybourne drew a finger across his throat in a swift cut, pre-empting any comment from the judges.

      "Not acceptable." Jack echoed the Asgard's words back with finality.

      "O'Neill," one of them said, in a tone that might have been a gentle warning. Was it Thor? He wasn't certain.

      Sunlight made another bid for freedom, twisted in his arms and slid to the floor, dropping Teddy Blue in the process.

      "Daddy!"

      Jack flinched and stepped forward, only to encounter a force barrier of his own. His arms splayed out against it, fingers stretched in the need to reach her. He bowed his head, eyes clenched shut in silent agony, pressing against the barrier that kept him apart from his daughter.

      There was a curiously immobile quality to the Asgard. They never made sudden moves; their body language was hard to read because there was so little of it. Even so, Maybourne thought he detected some reaction from the Asgard on the left.

      Did Thor and Heimdahl have something going on between them? His instinct for conspiracy said Heimdahl had some interest in himself and Sunlight beyond the obvious one of ensuring that he wasn't harming her. Was there anything that he could use? Was this a good time to mention that he wasn't from this reality? Would that create any unpleasant repercussions for Earth? And Cassandra...

      "Jack," he said, "what if I mentioned..."

      Jack shook his head, without looking up. **"If you're thinking what I'm thinking you're thinking,"** Kantele said, **"then I ought to mention that the Aesir penalty for perjury is excessively logical."**

       He bent down to Sunlight, trying to find the words that would reach her. "Princess, you have to wait a little." He could feel her shaking under his hand. "We have to find a way to sort this out." _I don't want to die._

      "Look," Jack demanded angrily, "you want the damn android; I want my daughter and Maybourne. What's so difficult?"

      "There is Law and there is Justice."

      "Screw your justice."

      "The value of the android has been established as being equivalent to that of your daughter. Do you wish us to accept restitution? If you do not, then the situation remains unchanged."

      He knew what Jack would be forced to do, even without waiting to hear it. Jack was a good man, had always been one, and that was his great weakness. Jack wouldn't let him die, no matter what the cost and you had to admire that even as you called him crazy. There was so very little that he could give in return. He reached into his pocket and drew out a bundle of letters.

      "These belong to Colonel O'Neill. May I return them?"

      "Yes," said the one that he thought was Thor.

      He threw the package in a slow steady motion and Jack fielded it deftly. He watched as the string was untied and felt Jack's pain as he read the first one. There was no need for him to see the words; he knew what they said. "Dear Daddy, I love you. Sunlight."

      Jack made a choking sound deep in his throat and half-turned away.

      Sunlight was starting to cry. "I want Daddy." 

      The hopelessness of her voice tore at him. She was only four. To lose her father for the third time... She'd end up never being able to trust anyone ever again. _Like you?_

       _You're her guardian. You promised to do the best for her that you could._

       _It's so unfair. Another couple of months and she'd have come to see me as her parent._

       _Do you suppose the Asgard care for heroics?_

      He stood up straight, lifting Sunlight and looking her in the eyes. "Princess, didn't I promise you you were going home?"

      She nodded, uncertain.

      "And so you are."

      The centre judge was quick to object. "You have no say in this matter."

      He grinned, in spite of himself. "Yes, I do. I'm Sunlight's guardian. Correct?"

      "You are her guardian, on behalf of the Aesir."

      "Then as her guardian, I have a legal obligation to do what is best for her. She needs to go home."

      Jack spun to face him. "Harry, you can't do this."

      "Watch me. I resign. I refuse to have anything more to do with her." He put Sunlight gently down on the floor and held his hands up out of her reach. "Jack, there's just one condition."

      "Name it." He had Jack's full attention now, which was kind of nice in a way. And something more: a respect that recognised his right to make this decision.

      "Make sure she gets my letters. I'd hate her to think..."

      The bench interrupted. "Is restitution being formally offered?"

      O'Neill was facing Maybourne, not the bench when he finally said: "Yes."

      

      The invisible wall went away. Daddy was smiling at her. It was a funny sort of smile, but he was there and he was coming back to her and he was bending down to hug her.

      There was a loud noise and Daddy jerked back and looked at the fairies. One of the fairies was holding a gun.

      "Don't look behind you," Daddy said. So she looked, and Harry was lying on the floor.

      The fairy shot him again and he jerked and lay all still.

      She screamed and screamed, but Harry didn't get up again. She ran to him and hit him and shook him and he still didn't get up. And Daddy was angry and shouting at the fairies and she would have shouted as well, but she was too busy trying to make Harry wake up.

      Mommy had gone away.

      Daddy had gone away.

      Even Kantele had gone away.

      Daddy was hitting Harry on the chest and blowing into his mouth, but he still didn't wake up.

      Harry had left her.

      Everybody always left her.


	12. Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a problem uploading some chapters. This is a known bug and I've now managed to work around it with the help of the support team.  
> Make sure you have read chapters 8 and 11 (which are now, fingers crossed, both uploaded correctly), before you read any further.

_Jack, it's no use._

       _I have to try._

       _He's dead. You can't do anything more for him. Sunlight needs us._

      Jack's hurt was a raw wound, compounded of anger and grief. As he stopped his resuscitation attempts on Maybourne and rested his hands on Sunlight instead, she curled into a tight ball, shutting out everything around her.

      She had been so pleased to see them...

      Emotions were bouncing between himself and Jack, anger fuelling anger, pain fuelling pain, and love sharpening it all to a razor's edge. They were close to spiralling out of control and Kantele didn't care.

       **"You did this!"** he shouted at the uncaring grey faces above them. **"You promised you would care for her. You _hurt_ **her.****

       **"Sure, Maybourne was a bastard. He was an egotistical, selfish liar who could justify almost anything to himself. But even he knew that you don't mess around with the love of a child."**

      "He was not a blood relation," Odnir said. "There could be no true bond between them. She merely mourns the loss of one who gave her food."

      They had no understanding. They didn't even have the beginnings of understanding. **"He was willing to _die_ in order for her to be with her father." **

      "Naturally. That was his contractual obligation."

      Jack gave him a nudge and took over. Keeping one hand resting on Sunlight's shoulder, he stretched the other out in exasperation. "We're talking Harry Maybourne here. He broke the damn treaty in the first place. Do you think he gave a damn about contractual obligations?"

      Acting as one, they picked up the tight-curled child and held her close, gently taking her away from the body that she frantically tried to cling to.

       **"She's seen too much death,"** Kantele said. **"She may never be able to forget. She was my host for a short while, and I know - her greatest fear is that she will lose everyone she loves."**

      "Maybourne knew that," Jack added. "He asked me to fake letters written from him for her so that she would think he was still alive. If you had waited just five minutes, she might never have known."

      Thor rose gracefully to his feet and came down from the bench to stand before them. Kantele felt the complexity of Jack's feelings towards the diminutive alien. New-found hatred ripped through the core of affection and friendship that had existed between them, and a sense of betrayal mingled with helplessness as Jack tried to remind himself that punching Thor on the nose would achieve nothing. 

      Thor's thin-boned hand reached out to almost touch Sunlight.

      "Will she speak to me?" Thor inquired.

      "You just killed someone she loved. What do you think?"

      Sunlight's head turned just far enough to address Thor. "I _hate_ you."

      In a fluid motion, Thor took a half-step back. "She used to like me."

      "Yeah. Well."

      Thor gazed at them with a slow, sad blink of his liquid eyes, before turning to face the remaining judges on the bench. With one hand, he gestured to Maybourne's body which vanished away in a transporter-beam effect that could have come straight out of Star Trek.

      "I have committed a crime," Thor said. "I have committed a breach of contract. At the time Maybourne died, the child of Colonel O'Neill was still in our custody. She suffered harm as a direct result of my action."

      "She had been released," Odnir said.

      Freyr was quick to object. "She had not reached her father. Until she was fully restored to him, she was our responsibility."

      "But justice must be carried out for all to see."

      Thor tilted his head slowly from side to side. "Sunlight on Water is not of legal age in her culture. It was only necessary for O'Neill to act as witness to punishment. I acted in error."

      The faintest rustle of sound came from all around, leaves rustling in an Autumn breeze. Kantele remembered it from long long ago: the quiet murmur of thousands of Aesir voices as they questioned something new. Once, they had struggled to understand the concept of a symbiote living in harmony with its host; now, a race without children had to try and understand the love that could grow between an adult and a foster-child.

      "What evidence do we have as to the degree of harm?" asked Odnir.

      "We have seen it with our own eyes," countered Thor. "We have heard the evidence of Colonel O'Neill and Kantele."

      Freyr stared down from the bench. "Is it common for such bonds to form in your species? Will any of your adults rear any of your young?"

      "Look," Jack said, dialling the sarcasm to full, "I'm sure all this is fascinating, but Sunlight's had enough for one day. She needs to go home."

      "O'Neill," Thor said softly, "you must help us. It is important."

      Kantele stamped a mental foot on Jack's toe, before he had a chance to say 'Give me one good reason.'

       _They did save Earth for us..._

      Jack sighed. "Some adults hate kids, some love them. Some love only their own kids, some will go out of their way to help the sick and the homeless and devote their entire lives to them. I'm surprised Maybourne went as far as he did, but then he had no kids of his own to go back to. Or maybe he was just a better man than I gave him credit for."

      "He attempted to teach her," Thor said. "He would not let us give her language; he said that she should learn it for herself. Is this what you would have wished?"

      Jack fidgeted, wanting as much as Kantele to get away from this place, to get Sunlight back where she needed to be.

      "I guess so," he said. "Be nice to know it all, but you get whatever mistakes are in the original. Carter keeps telling me that old scientists never discover anything original, because they can't abandon stuff they learnt when they were younger."

      "She is correct, O'Neill. Our science advances slowly now; our military tactics are unoriginal, and we have lost the art of easy innovation. We have no young, and now we must decide. Do we go down our present sterile path forever, or do we take a risk? We have found one of our ancestors in stasis from thirty thousand years ago. We cannot revive him, but there are enough viable cells to be able to clone him. If we let the clone grow naturally to maturity then it will learn as one of your young would - slowly and inefficiently. We considered this and rejected this as we did not believe the young clone would be able to bond with any of our adults. None of us have any practical knowledge of how to rear young."

      Realisation struck them both simultaneously, but Jack got to the vocal chords first.

      "Guinea pigs! You damn well used my daughter as a guinea pig."

      "It was at your request. There is a word in your language, 'serendipity'."

      "Harry's dead because of your serendipity and as for Sunlight..."

      Thor blinked.

      There was something about that blink...

       _Wait a minute._

       _There's something we're missing._ __

      Sunlight's fingers clutched at his shirt. "I want Harry."

      "Would you please repeat that for the court?" Thor asked.

      "I want Harry!"

      Thor turned and inclined his head to the bench. "I believe the victim of the crime has just made a plea for restitution. There is only one possible response under the law."

      

      

Carter had a bad attack of the fidgets. Every time she tried to concentrate on something else, her mind hopped back to Jack and Kantele. Try as she might to read a book, she had to keep going over the same page again and again.

      Her family were out there and she didn't know when they'd be back. It wasn't just Jack and Kantele: it was Sunlight too. Like it or not, Sunlight was going to need two parents after what she'd likely been through with either the Asgard or Maybourne. There was no possibility of stepping back now, no being an auntie who came round to play occasionally. This was the full blown motherhood thing. How she and Jack would sort it all out, she didn't yet know, but they'd have to figure out some kind of pattern on their working hours. Using day-care would surely be out of the question until the little girl had some stability and confidence in her life. Maybe Dad would help. Sunlight seemed to like her Grandpa.

      Being a mother felt alien, strange. She'd always expected to have children some day, but she'd also expected to start at the beginning, not to give birth to a four-year old. It was still hard to grasp the idea that Sunlight was, genetically, her child. She needed to talk about it, to try and understand her own feelings, and only one person came to mind. Taking out her cellphone, she dialled.

      "Sam, I'm just in the middle of lunch."

      "Nice to hear you too, Dad. Can I come round? I need to talk to you - about Mom."

      

      

Daniel checked his cellphone again, but he hadn't missed any calls and the battery wasn't flat. Wishful thinking in any case: he checked the charge every morning - Jack's language had been quite creative the one time he'd let it go flat and he'd been needed.

      "Watching will not make it ring," Teal'c said.

      "I know, I just can't stop wishing there was some news." 

       **"Would you prefer to hold this discussion on another occasion?"** Malik asked.

      "I apologise for my manners," Daniel said hastily. Hammond had asked him to do this and he had to try and stop worrying about Jack for a little while at least. He took a deep breath of the pine-scented air and used it to focus himself. Malik had asked to come up to the surface to see something of the world that his mother, Egeria, had known. They were high enough on the mountain to lose all noise from the world below and the song of the unseen birds in the trees was a pleasant contrast to the background machine sounds of the SGC.

      "The Tok'ra are our allies and we want to help you in any way possible."

      Direct to the point, Malik asked, **"Will General Hammond help us establish another Tok'ra base?"**

      "He asked me to discuss that with you. We have a base on a world that isn't known to the Goa'uld. We evacuated the rebel Jaffa there when their base was destroyed by Lord Yu and it seemed logical-"

       **"We will not live with the Jaffa."**

      "What?" He knew he was looking stupid even as he said it. Teal'c, with far greater reserves of calm, said nothing with an impassivity that hinted little as to his inner thoughts.

      Malik sat down on a boulder and scooped up a handful of dry pine needles. **"We have every respect for those like Teal'c who have been able to take up the fight against the Goa'uld, but the loyalties of most Jaffa are suspect. Their dependence on symbiotes makes them too vulnerable to be reliable."** He tossed the pine needles into the air and the breeze carried them away. **"They blow as the wind blows."**

      Teal'c stood straight, his hand gripping a young tree as though it were the haft of his staff weapon.

      "You insult Rak'nor. He accepted death when his symbiote matured. He lives now only though the aid of Doctor Fraiser."

      Malik dusted his hands together. **"And can you guarantee that every Jaffa will be as brave? The Jaffa of a defeated System Lord go on to serve his conqueror. Dead gods, no matter how venerated, cannot provide symbiotes."**

       "We can only die once." He took a deliberate step towards Malik. "As can you."

      Malik came rapidly to his feet and stood firmly to face Teal'c. **"Is this Jaffa loyalty?"**

      "Teal'c!" Daniel hastened to interpose himself, but Teal'c waved him aside.

      "The Tok'ra claim to be willing to die to defeat the Goa'uld," Teal'c said. "Do you believe you are the only ones capable of this? Or are you simply Goa'uld, unable to see Jaffa as more than expendable slaves?"

       **"We are not Goa'uld!"**

      "Then let us speak to your host," Daniel said. "I'd like to hear his opinion."

      Malik relaxed his combative stance slightly and dipped his head. The side of his mouth twitched uncontrollably as he spoke. "H- How can you doubt Malik? He s-saved me from your kind."

      Daniel gestured at Teal'c to take a step back, but 'Malik' showed no visible reduction in stress.

      "My father and mother, my sisters, all killed by Jaffa. I wish all of you were dead!" His hands began to shake. Daniel reached out a hand to comfort him, but he flinched away, dipping his head to signify a return to the symbiote.

       **"You must understand,** " Malik said, " **that Theodore's experience is not untypical of Tok'ra hosts. We find willing hosts where the Goa'uld have committed unspeakable atrocities. Not only that. Whenever a Tok'ra has died in the last two thousand years, it has usually been at the hands of a Jaffa.**

       **"Intellectually, we accept that some Jaffa are different. Emotionally, for both symbiote and host, it may prove impossible."**

      

      

"Colonel," Hammond said brusquely, "why did you bring this man here?"

      Maybourne's hackles rose at the question. He was tired, his head hurt and his mind was still having difficulty accepting the fact that he'd been dead. Only the bruises on his chest, where Jack had tried to restart his heart, hurt enough to convince him; that, and Sunlight holding onto his hand with enough grip to half-crush his fingers. With her other hand, she clung to Jack as he answered Hammond's question.

      "We had no choice, Sir. The Asgard released Maybourne and Sunlight on a legal technicality, but took it for granted that we wished to be returned to where they believed we came from. They sent us here. If you can send us to P3W-924 then we'll use Ma'chello's portal to get back home. We can't afford to hang around. Thor said he'd close the portal in a day or so."

      "I see."

      Hammond's eyes raked over Maybourne, taking in every crease in his uniform, the month-long beard, and the parlous state of his shoes. He did his best to show no reaction. What had seemed clean on Svenska now looked scruffy, and he was particularly conscious of the beard being non-regulation. He was also acutely conscious of the need to get away from here. Hammond might have ordered the base personnel to forget they ever saw him, but the way they'd looked at him strongly suggested that several were tempted to shoot first and forget afterwards. That hurt - for a short time at least, this had been his base and they had been part of his team.

      "General," Hammond said, addressing him for the first time, "in spite of my personal opinions regarding your past actions, your lack of honesty, and your morality, I will give you safe passage off this base in recognition of the assistance you have given us. Just don't expect anything more."

      What the heck was that about? He exchanged a quick glance with Jack, but received no enlightenment there. Oh well, you didn't expect gratitude in this game. There was just one thing, though:

      "General, I'd like to ask one favour."

      Hammond's glare pierced right through him. "Didn't you hear what I just said?"

      There were times when you had nothing to lose.

      "I'd like to speak to Cassandra."

      "You would, would you?" The Texan drawl was slow and deliberate.

      "Apparently I'm not the only one with a hearing problem." He'd had it up to here with being shoved around, and he could glare every bit as well as General Hammond. He leant forward over the polished wooden desk. "You owe me."

      "I hope you meet up with Cassandra, General. I hope you meet up with her real soon." Hammond reached into his desk drawer and pulled out an exercise book. "Jack, take your daughter someplace else for a few minutes. General Maybourne and I have things to discuss."

      "Is she..." Jack stopped.

      Hammond looked down at Sunlight. "Cassandra's fine, son. Now take your daughter, and if you'll take my advice, keep her as far away from this man as possible."

      Maybourne shifted into Svenska. There was a fair chance that Kantele would know it or something similar and he was damned if he was going to let Hammond listen in on anything personal.

      "Jack, take her home. The longer she stays here, the more distressed she'll get. Every time someone points a gun at me, it scares her."

       **"What will you do?"**

      "If I go back with you, Hammond will have no option but to arrest me as soon as I step through the Gate: I'm still an escaped prisoner. I'll cross back into our reality via Ma'challo's portal and then Gate to Svenska. I know I can survive there. Bring Sunlight to visit me whenever you can." He was looking into the future and didn't much care for what he saw. "It's going to be very lonely without her."

       **"We'll bring her in a couple of days."** Jack rested a hand on his shoulder. **"She's going to miss you. Have you got anything she can keep with her to reassure her that you aren't going away for ever?"**

       Maybourne knelt down and unfastened the intelligence pin from his uniform jacket. "Sunlight. Your dad's going to take you home. I'll follow on later. Can you look after this for me until I see you again?"

      Sunlight nodded and clutched it tight in her hand. She'd said very little since his resurrection and he knew the signs and worried for her. She touched the epaulette on his shoulder with a questioning finger.

      "You want that too?" He unpinned the general's star and fastened it onto the pocket of her dress. He could sense Hammond's disapproval of his cavalier attitude to the uniform and was quietly amused by it. It wasn't his uniform in any case: it belonged to a dead man. He unfastened the star on the other side and pinned that on her too. It really was quite entertaining to work out the number of regulations he was breaking.

      Abruptly, Sunlight grabbed Teddy Blue from where he stuck his head out of a pocket in Jack's BDUs and thrust the toy into Maybourne's hand. Knowing what was expected of him, he gave the creature a cuddle; the soft feel of its fur was oddly reassuring.

      It was ridiculous. The thing was just a stuffed toy. Just the thing she loved best in the world... Nothing to get worked up about. Nothing at all.

      Stuff Hammond - he wrapped his arms around Sunlight for a farewell hug and did his damn best to express everything that he felt for her.

      

      

Maybourne fought the urge to look behind him; he knew Sunlight wasn't there. Checking on her location had become so automatic that it required conscious effort not to do it. He focused instead on the exercise book that lay in front of him on Hammond's desk. Pale blue, slightly battered around the edges, it looked like the kind of thing that schools got through in truckloads. All that was written on the front was the word 'Private' in black ball-point with a few doodles of leaves and flowers underneath it.

      Hammond nodded towards the book. "Read it. If you have the guts."

      So he picked it up with a steady hand and read the first page.

_Dear Harry,_  
       _Dr MacKenzie said I should keep a diary. ___

The sense of her was so strong that for a moment he even thought he could smell the shampoo that Cassandra used on her hair. She'd remembered him - he smiled inwardly, but let nothing show. The book was a trap, Hammond had made that clear. He finished the page and turned over, noting the way that Cassandra wrote her letters, the distinctive loops and the high dots.

      She'd covered for him with Hammond? He's subconsciously expected her to do that, but was still gratified by it. But how had Hammond got hold of the diary?

       _Are you still alive? That's all I really wanted to know._

      An awkward sense of premonition was creeping up his spine, his own fear growing to match the fear in Cassandra's diary. Was she still alive? Why else had Hammond got Sunlight out of the way? Why else was he looking at Maybourne with that unflinching quiet disdain?

      Another page. _Chris? Who the hell was Chris?_ He acknowledged the irrationality of jealousy and moved on.

       _I can talk to you. You were there._

       _Harry, hold me. Please._

      She'd needed him. Him, not some upstart youngster, and he hadn't been there. She'd never been far from his thoughts, but thoughts weren't enough. Thoughts couldn't reach out and put an arm around someone.

       _I said, "No. I don't want to do it. Not because it's illegal, or because I might get pregnant, or anything else like that. I just don't want to do it yet._

      Sense at least to know her own mind and stick to her guns. _Do you realise that's one of the things I like most about you? You've got the strength to say what you think. You don't hide behind layers. You're willing to look beyond the cliché and grapple with reality._

      The diary was a window into her mind, a gift that he'd never expected to have. Each page showed him another aspect of her, of the cultural mix that had made her what she was, and the courage that had enabled her to struggle on while having to hide who and what she was from everyone around her. He was still trying to recall how she had felt in his arms when the next entry hit him. 

       _You lied to me. You bastard, you LIED to me._

       _You said it was legal at sixteen. If you were here right now, I'd scratch your eyes out._

       _Shit! I didn't, did I? Well, not exactly. Heck, I can't even remember what I did say. How the hell should I know what the age of consent is in Colorado? Frankly, at that particular moment, I didn't care._

       _Hammond's read this? No wonder he's giving me such a dirty look._

      Very carefully, looking as though he were reading nothing more important that an inter-office memo on paperclip consumption, he turned another page.

       _Myra said that men from another state always remembered the laws of the state they grew up in, it they remembered anything at all._

      Myra had to be the most rational feminist he'd ever encountered. _If you really want to know, I grew up in Iowa. It's legal at fourteen there. You can get married at twelve, though I doubt it happens very often. One of those wonderful legal twists where it's apparently fine to have sex if you've signed on the dotted line, but seriously damaging to your health if you're single. Is there an age gap rule in Iowa? Might be. I don't know for sure. The last time I tried seducing teenage girls was when I was a teenage boy. And that was one hell of a long time ago._

       _Let's be honest here, Myra; you're probably being too nice. Bottom line? I didn't care. I thought she'd betrayed me and all I wanted to do was to get into her pants by way of revenge._

       _Don't I get any Brownie Points for kicking her out of the room?_

       _Keep reading. It can't get any worse_.

       _You entrusted me with the black parts of yourself. You asked me to believe there was more to you than that. And I did. Maybe I still do._

       _Ah, I guess it depends on what you mean by 'worse'. Cassie, it's bad when you're tearing me to pieces, but I'm not sure I can cope any better when you're being nice._

       _Why aren't you here? I need to talk to you in person. Look, we can skip the sex part. I just want to be with you for a while, to be sure you're okay. Did Jack remember to give you the money? I forgot to ask him. I need to know you're all right_.

_Harry,_

       _I'm going to Washington. I don't really believe it, even now. I'm going to a Presidential dinner at the White House and I'm to receive a Meritorious Civilian Service Award. Why me? Other people must have done far more than I did. I don't feel I deserve it._

       _Yes you do. More than any of us. You did your job with the added handicap of youth and insufficient training. I suppose I have to give Kinsey credit for recognising it - with his prejudice against aliens it would have been easy to overlook you_.

       _I'll be travelling with Major Davis, he said something about needing to keep a promise he'd made to you. I think he'd really like to show me around Washington before the dinner, but he's got a lot of work to do and I'm scared he'd want to talk about you in any case. I'll go sight-seeing on my own._

       _I'm all butterflies inside. I'm going to see the President._

       _Took Davis long enough to get around to it. He should have been into Kinsey's computer weeks ago. Probably still hoping against hope that the President is wearing a white hat. So, what did he get? Maybe I'll have a peek before I go. Might be interesting, always assuming that Hammond will let me within a mile of any SGC computer system._

       _Last page coming up.._.

_Dear Harry,_

       _I'm sitting on the floor of the Jefferson Memorial as I write this. I came here because Lisa Simpson did once, and she was right, it's much quieter here. Does that sound silly? Doing something because it happened in a cartoon? She needed somewhere to think things over, and so do I._

       _I didn't expect what was written on the wall. Jefferson said: "I have sworn upon the altar of God eternal hostility against every kind of tyranny over the mind of man."_

       _I like that. He would have hated the Goa'uld._

       _There's flowers everywhere, loads more around the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial. It's oddly quiet. There's this incredibly heavy scent from all the flowers, so many lilies. Everyone's left them for the dead. Today, I do feel part of America, everyone's left flowers for all our dead. I mean, they've left them for their own, but they've left them here because it's something greater than any of our individual dead. Everyone's mourning together._

       _I think, maybe, here and now, I have to start looking at things realistically. Here, it's impossible to be unaware of the death toll. It's the sea of flowers that brings it all home._ You _did this. The only difference between the two of you is that you were lucky enough not to get caught. You told me yourself: you did exactly what he did. You betrayed America. You betrayed the world._

       _I think it's only now starting to sink in. You meant something to me. But how can I care for the man responsible for all this?_

       _It's cold. The sun's shining, but I feel so cold inside._

       _I thought you were different, but you knew his mind, knew the way he thought, knew how he would react to things, guessed exactly what he wanted to do when Nirrti's retrovirus made me able to move things with my mind. How could you know that unless you're the same on the inside? I know now -- if Jack hadn't caught you, you'd have gone on to do exactly the same. You would have let me die in the name of science and kept Nirrti on Earth as a prisoner to help in your research._

       _I loved you, but you were never real. You were just another murderer._

       _So many flowers..._

       _It's my fault too._

       _I should have died. None of this would have happened, if Nirrti hadn't gone free._

       _Do you think anyone will lay flowers here for me?_

      Hammond waited silently for Maybourne's reaction. He knew how he'd felt after reading the diary: angry beyond belief at the way Maybourne had tricked his way into Cassandra's affections, lied to her, abused her trust and finally left her with nothing. He'd remembered the twelve-year old girl who had come to them, clinging so desperately to Colonel O'Neill in the aftermath of her world's destruction, and of the bond that had developed between her and Dr Fraiser. All gone. All wasted.

      The diary was all that was left of that little girl and it was too dangerous to share with anyone else. The whole parallel reality situation was a loaded gun. Let that knowledge get to the wrong people and the consequences could be disastrous. Maybourne's presence here and now was a massive security risk. Hammond had sealed off the bottom two levels of the base to minimise the chances of contact, but at least fifteen people knew of the man's arrival.

      He'd stayed awake last night wondering who else had read that diary before it had been sent to him with the rest of Cassandra's effects. Had they realised the significance? Miraculously, there had been nothing in the news and the coroner's report had been terse to say the least. Death, even by suicide, was so familiar that it no longer had the power to stir anyone into major enquiries, even if there had been the manpower to spare.

      Oh, Hammond knew exactly how he felt. Angry, helpless, and unable to do anything for Cassandra apart from hoping that Maybourne had humanity enough to be able to hurt.

      The fingers of Maybourne's left hand curled themselves into a tight ball, nails digging into the palm; his right seemed unable to loose its grip upon the fragile exercise book. His eyes stared blankly at the paper, but whether in guilt, remorse or denial, Hammond was unable to judge.

      "The driver said she ran right in front of him," he said coldly. "She was dead before she reached the hospital."

      The exercise book crumpled under Maybourne's hand, crushed, as his fist clenched in a sudden spasm. "I need..." His voice caught awkwardly; he clenched his jaw and tried again. "Could you-" He broke abruptly and buried his head in his hands, fingers clawing at his forehead. "Please - put some flowers on her grave for me."

      Now, he had the reaction he'd wanted, but there was no pleasure in it. All he could find was resentment, as if Maybourne's distress at Cassandra's death retrospectively entitled him to some share in her life.

      He buried all trace of pity. Maybourne deserved everything he got. "You mean," he said deliberately, "the grave that she shares with five thousand other people? The graves that people are still being buried in because it's too soon after the plague for the emergency legislation to have been repealed? The graves that you condemned them to, because you thought it was smart to steal from the only people who could protect us against the Goa'uld.

      "And don't give me any crap about how things were different in your reality. Cassandra knew. Why she lied for you, I'll never know, but even she finally saw you for what you were."

      Maybourne's face rose to glare at him, anger evident in the tight-drawn skin across the forehead, in the downward turn of his lips and jut of his chin. " _Don't_ judge me."

      A knock on the door behind Maybourne snapped Hammond's attention away briefly from his unwelcome guest.

      "Come."

      Major Davis stepped in, crisp and smart in strong contrast to Maybourne. "Sir, I-" He caught sight of Maybourne and his face broke into a smile. "General, it's good to see you again. How did-"

      "General Maybourne is just about to leave."

      "But I need..." Belatedly, Davis reacted to the tone of command in Hammond's voice and trailed off.

      "Kinsey's files?" Maybourne asked.

      "Yes, Sir."

      It grated beyond belief to have one of his people treat this man with respect, regardless of his rank.

      Maybourne's expression morphed into a smile, the kind that tigers reserved for their victims. "I still have a margin of at least twenty-four hours before the Asgard close the portal. I'd be delighted to assist Major Davis in his quest for information." A sneer, directed at him where Davis wouldn't see it. "I'm sure you'll agree that I'm uniquely qualified to know what he's looking for."

      Hammond reminded himself that Jack O'Neill had been able to work with this man. Jack had taken it for granted that he would see that Maybourne got home again - alive. He was also expected to stop the news of Maybourne's presence getting out, while still giving the President enough information to enable him to handle the situation correctly if the Aesir had future dealings with Earth. The same President who might or might not have been involved in Maybourne's conspiracy in the first place...

      Like it or not, he had to know.


	13. All Alone in the Night

Guns rose automatically to follow him as he walked along the SGC corridor. Maybourne didn't care. He was beyond caring and that in turn gave him an odd sense of freedom. He walked right up to one of the SFs and flicked a finger at the barrel of his gun, watching with mild interest as the man's finger tautened on the trigger.

      "Sir." Davis caught at his arm.

      For one glorious moment, he thought the airman was going to break orders and fire anyway, but the anger on his face schooled itself to a carefully bland expression and the trigger-finger slowly relaxed. Maybourne gave a half-shrug and carried on down the corridor with its mazes of pipework, cables and hazard symbols. Metallic smells, the faint tang of oil, even a slight dampness from being this far underground, all the smells combined to create a haunting palette of memory. This place had meant something to him, had given him a purpose.

      He had to get out. The memories brought him no comfort, only a disturbing sense of disconnection, as though part of him were here in the past and a totally disconnected part of him observed the present. What would happen if he grabbed one of the guns and went postal? A corner of his mind played the scenario like an old silent movie reel, bullets spraying as he fired at a row of targets. No cries, no pain, just bodies falling all around him in endless slow motion.

      "General," Davis said, in the tone of someone who has already tried to attract your attention once.

      "Yes?"

      "I said would you like a chance to freshen up? You've obviously done a lot of travelling."

      He noticed for the first time that they were just outside the men's locker room.

      "You mean I stink."

      "I'd have phrased it more diplomatically," Davis said. "If you want a change of clothing, there may still be something in your old locker."

      " _His_ locker."

      "I prefer to think of it as yours." He pushed open the door and held it wide for Maybourne.

      A youngish man with fair hair, head bowed deep in contemplation, looked up, startled, from the bench on which he sat. "I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't expect anyone else to be here this time of day." He blinked in sudden recognition, eyes blue behind his glasses. "General! How- Forget that, none of my business." A hand raked though his hair, smoothing down a disobedient tuft that promptly sprang up again. "I don't know if you heard," he said hesitantly, "but if you want to pray for her, you know where to find me."

      As if for the first time, Maybourne's eyes took in the dog collar worn under the fatigues. The face was one he'd only ever glimpsed in passing. Father Locke was officially on the NORAD rayroll, but had taken to spending time in the SGC which was too small to justify a full-time chaplain of its own. He'd seen the man occasionally, sitting quietly with patients in the infirmary, but had never bothered to talk to him. He and religion had parted company a long time ago.

      "Say one for me, Padre," Davis said. "I had to identify the body. I collected a medal on Cassandra's behalf, but-"

      " _Shut up!_ " Everything was whirling round his mind, faster and faster. _You LIED to me. Just another murderer. I thought you were different. You would have let me die._ His hand caught at the teddy bear in his pocket as though it were a lucky talisman. He tried to summon Sunlight's presence in his mind, but she was gone, gone in a way that shouldn't be possible, so completely gone that he couldn't even be sure that she'd ever existed.

      Locke came to his feet, gangly, and taller than he'd looked when sitting. "Major, would you leave us alone for a while?"

      "I can't do that. General Hammond made it very clear that I was to remain with him at all times. Sorry, Sir," he added with an apologetic glance at Maybourne.

      "Are there any other ways out of here?" Locke asked rhetorically.

      "Forget it," Maybourne snarled. "I didn't come here to be preached at." He started stripping off his uniform, deliberately ignoring the priest. Maybe nudity would drive the man away. Maybe hot water would enable him to feel clean. If only people would stop bothering him. If only everything would go away and he could be back with Sunlight on Svenska. Forget the crap food, forget the cold nights, just give him back something that actually mattered.

      Locke spoke to his backside. "Every Christian on this base prayed for your soul, prayed earnestly that you might see the light, prayed for redemption, tried to forgive you. Only one person asked Our Lord to keep you alive and safe. Cassandra had already forgiven you. I thought you might want to know that."

       _Harry._ For an instant, he had the sense of her as she had been, of the desperate loneliness that had pulled them together and of the faith she'd had in him.

      All gone.

      "She changed her mind."

      Locke gave him a searching look. "She was very insistent that I pray for you. So much so, that I had to ask myself 'why?'"

      Maybourne's shirt was flung to the floor to land on top of his jacket where it lay in a crumpled heap.

      "So you decided to forgive me too. How magnanimous. Forgive me if I fail to appreciate it."

      The zipper on his fly chose that particular moment to jam. He tugged at it, fighting the demons that surrounded him on every side. Every time he thought of Cassandra, he could hear her ghost screaming his name. Every time he thought of her dead, he knew that he was...

      "Father-" The word choked in his throat. He clutched at the locker for support. "Paul. Go. Please."

      For a miracle, Davis didn't argue. The door closed quietly behind him as Maybourne slid slowly down to the floor, propped up only by the locker door.

      "I was dead," he said to no one in particular. "I took two shots from a zat."

      Locke crouched down beside him. "Then you were spared for a reason."

      He laughed bitterly. "I'm here because Sunlight wanted me back and Thor cooked the books. Or so Jack tells me. I wouldn't know. I wasn't there." He waved a hand vaguely in the air, just to watch the wrist flop back and forth. "They're all clones, you know. Maybe I'm a clone. How would I know? Maybe I'm not really me at all." He turned his face, to rest his cheek against the cool metal. "Cassie wondered if she was really human. Maybe I'm no more human than she was." He scraped a knuckle across a grille on the door and was mildly surprised to find that he could still hurt physically. "Do I have a soul? Did she?"

      A hand touched him on the shoulder, a quiet focus in the centre of his increasing disorientation.

      "Yes," Locke said firmly.

      "How would you know? Who died and made you God?"

      "I know. If you worry about the answer to that question, then you have a soul."

      "Then where is she now? She didn't worship your God. _Where_ is she now?"

      "I don't know," Locke said gently. "I believe God has infinite patience and understanding. I trust him to work things out in his own way. Cassandra was a good person and she had the beginnings of faith."

      Maybourne shivered. "She's in Hell. When I think of her, all I can feel is pain and fear."

      "Is there something you want to tell me?" The voice was undemanding and commanding at the same time, displaying a knowledge of life that shouldn't have been there in so young a man.

      He'd known it would come to this, known it ever since he'd asked Davis to leave. The whole idea terrified him, but there was nowhere else to go, nothing else that might fill Sunlight's void and perhaps make Cassandra's ghost rest a little easier. If God could accept him, then maybe...

      He bowed his head in the ages-old ritual that he'd almost forgotten.

      "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."

      

      

The computer keyboard was an old and familiar friend; it represented a challenge of a kind that Maybourne could face. It took his fingers a few minutes to find their accustomed dexterity, but it wasn't long before he located the files he sought. There was an excitement to a hunt of this kind, and concentrating on Senator Kinsey's mind helped him avoid thinking of Cassandra. 

      How would Kinsey record things? What kind of file names would he use? Was he organised in the way he structured things?

      The financial data was first to fall out out of the system, but then that was the easiest: Kinsey's dealings with the NID and their contributions to his campaign funds made for interesting reading, though they differed little from his own reality insofar as he could recall the details. Next would come his political associates, his undeclared policies, his...

      Why was he doing this?

      He stared blankly at the screen, let his eyes relax their focus, and stared up at the aerial photo of the Pentagon that hung on Davis's wall. The photo definitely lacked subtlety; Davis might as well have hung up a large sign saying 'SGC-Pentagon Liaison Officer'.

      Glancing up from the papers he was studying, Davis asked: "Coffee?"

      Maybourne shook his head.

      "Sir, are you all right?"

      "Fine." Well, perhaps not fine, but at least a little better than he had been before. Locke had helped him keep a hold on sanity. To find someone who could simply accept without feeling the need to pass any kind of judgement... Locke had values, and very strongly held ones, but one of those values was the importance of forgiveness. And he'd asked nothing more than that in return. _Forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us._ He'd tried, was still trying. It wasn't necessary to explain things away or to understand them, simply to accept. Cassandra had managed it once. _Focus on that. Forget what she wrote later in her diary. Remember that she was able to accept you - and accept her in return._

      For a moment, he had it. In his mind, she held out a hand towards him, and the emotional pain was nothing to do with him, and she needed comfort from him to cope with it.

       _Why me? You hate me._

      And he'd lost her again. Intellectually, it was easy. All he had to do was to forgive that final denial, and he'd be able to remember her as she had been and keep that memory to sustain him. Easy. In theory.

      He wasn't a man who bore grudges as a rule, hadn't even held it against O'Neill when Jack had pulled the rug from under his off-world operation. The man had been doing his job; had never pretended to be a friend. Cassandra was different. He'd been at least half-way to being in love...

      He had to get away from here.

      Why was he doing this job anyway?

      Distraction? A lingering sense of obligation?

       _Because you don't know when you'll have the chance to use a computer again, if ever, and it's one of the few things you do really well._

      The predator in him smiled and returned to the keyboard.

      Kinsey's correspondence linked him to a fascinating range of right-wing political and religious groups. Interesting how the same man could be strongly anti-abortion, but also pro-death penalty. Still, each to their own. He'd been in favour of the death penalty himself - until it affected him personally.

      He wandered through some of the religious debates, skimming the topics rapidly. Did the Aesir have souls? Were they false gods misleading mankind and thus no better than the Goa'uld? Could information gained from the Goa'uld be used to aid humanity? What was the status of the Jaffa? Were they demons? Could any living being created by an alien race have a soul?

      He could feel Locke's hand resting on his shoulder in tacit reassurance that he was human. He badly wanted to hold Cassie in his arms and give her that same reassurance.

      More directories, more topics. Discussions with the NID; activities at Area 51; ongoing projects. Fascinating stuff and far more interesting to him than abstract theological debates. Nirrti was co-operating with the NID, to some extent at least, giving them useful nuggets of information with the promise of far more to come. She had no access to a sarcophagus and her host was aging rapidly. She was dying, and all she wanted in return for her vast knowledge of technology and virology was a new host...

      Hammond would never allow that, hadn't allowed it when Apophis's host was dying of old age.

      Hammond didn't run Area 51.

      He thought about that one, trying to put himself in Kinsey's place. Kinsey would both hate and despise Nirrti, but he would also see the potential for gain. His religious beliefs would never allow him to give her a new host. Unless... 

      Shit.

      

      

"Your mother loved you," Dad said, "but you don't need me to tell you that."

      Sam looked down at the photo album in her hands and opened it at random. A small witch and a slightly taller skeleton looked out at her. The witch had a tall pointy black hat and silver stars on her cloak; the skeleton had big white bones stitched onto his black clothes. Behind her creations stood the seamstress with a smile on her face.

      Sam smiled with her in memory - Mom had always made great fancy-dress costumes. Mark and Sam had gone trick-or-treating every Halloween, or had done until the year Mark got caught throwing an egg at the Foggon's front window. Dad had given him hell for that. Nobody liked the Foggons, but no son of his was going to act like a hooligan.

      Dad had always been strict; he'd set high standards for his children and expected them to achieve. Mom hadn't been so single-minded, had never worried much about scores in class and exam results. Just be happy, she'd said. But maybe neither of them had been totally right. Dad's inflexible attitude and demand for nothing less than the best had been part of what had driven Mark away, but it had also led Sam to set high standards for herself and to succeed. Dad had never doubted that she could do anything that she set her mind to.

      But it had been Mom who had always been there when Dad was away, Mom who had taught her to bake, Mom who had dressed dolls with her and had always wanted grandchildren...

      "Mom would have loved Sunlight."

      Dad nodded. "She would. Here-" he turned back a few pages -"this is you at about the age Sunlight is now."

      The little girl in the photo was digging a hole in the garden with a small trowel. Next to her, with a plant ready to go in the hole, was her mother. You could see the resemblence between Sunlight and the young Samantha, even though the roundness of the child's face bore little relationship to the adult that she would become. The girl and her mother were both cheerfully grubby and a few doll size plates in the background showed signs that mud pies had definitely been on the menu.

      "I'd forgotten that," Sam said.

      "What?"

      "Mom always used to wear her wedding ring on a neckchain, when she was doing anything really messy."

      Jacob picked up the small marquetry box that had been next to the photo album and opened it. "You can see why," he said, picking out the ring and holding it between thumb and forefinger, "it's very easy to get dirt inbetween the twists."

      Red, white and yellow gold plaited together to make a ring with subtle variations in colour; it was a beautiful thing. Sam took it from him and held it as it brought back the memories.

      "Keep it," Dad said.

      "Are you sure?"

      "She'd have wanted you to have it. If it fits, it would mean a lot to me if... That is if Jack doesn't mind."

      It fitted easily on her ring finger, but then she and her mother had always been pretty similar in build. She twisted it around on her finger, feeling the texture of it, wondering at the power of something so simple to evoke so much emotion. It was the outward symbol of a union that had only been broken by her mother's death. Her parents had always backed one another up, even when they disagreed on an issue. That had been the family rule. If you asked one parent for something and didn't like the answer, then it was no use asking the other to overturn the verdict.

      It made sense to her military mind. Once an order has been given, that's it. You don't argue. She'd have to discuss that with Jack. They were going to need to work out a consistent set of rules for Sunlight. Hopefully Kantele would fill them in as much as possible on what rules she was used to. Consistency was important. Stability and a sense of security went hand in hand.

      "Dad, if they come back-" she corrected herself- "when they come back, can we all stay here for the first few nights? I know it'll be crowded, but Sunlight knows this place and it might help for the first day or two while I'm figuring which of my stuff to move over to Jack's place. Kantele may know which pieces of furniture she remembers. I'm sort of hoping that she'll remember some of the older pieces."

      "You need to ask?"

      That was Dad: a royal pain in the neck on occasion, but always there when you needed him. A bit like Jack really...

      Her cellphone rang and she grabbed it, every muscle tensing as she read the caller's name. Of course Jack would have managed to bring Sunlight back. Of course he would...

      "Jack?"

      "She's here." You could almost hear the smile down the phone. "Do you want to speak to her?"

       _No going back now._ "Sunlight, can you hear me?"

      "Mommy?" So hesitant. So needy. Who was going to make mud pies with her and sew at fairy costumes for parties? Had her own mother ever wanted a career? Was it really possible to combine a career and an orphaned child? Her finger rubbed at the plaited wedding ring as though it had the power to summon her mother's spirit to advise her.

      "I'm here, love. I'm at Grandpa's. Come right on over and see us."

      

      

Maybourne knocked on Hammond's door with as much show of confidence as he could muster. He was conscious of the fact that his borrowed fatigues conveyed no sense of authority, but they were also comfortable and clean and bore no taint of his alter ego. Davis, standing beside him, looked far more the professional.

      "Come."

      Straightening his shoulders and wishing yet again for a few extra inches in height, Maybourne stepped into the office.

      Hammond's eyes flicked to the doorway, took him in, dismissed him and focused instead on Major Davis.

       _Don't grovel. No matter how important this is, don't grovel. No one respects a groveller._

      "General Hammond-" he tossed a folder full of print-outs onto the desk- "I've enough here to conclusively demonstrate Kinsey's links with the NID." It wouldn't be easy for Hammond to decide how to use the information, or even whether to use it at all. Normally he'd have derived amusement from observing that dilemma, but right now there were more important things to hand.

       _Say it._ "I also believe that Cassandra is still alive and was used with Kinsey's tacit permission as a host for Nirrti."

      "Can you prove that?" Hammond asked sharply.

      "No. Not with the information that I have here." He'd carried out a fast search for anything that would put concrete proof behind his intuition, but Kinsey hadn't left anything in clear view and time was running out.

      "Then I can only assume that you're indulging in pure fantasy. Do I need to explain why?"

      "Show him."

      "Are you serious?"

      "Show Major Davis the diary." It was a risky strategy; he could lose Davis at this point, but Hammond had to be convinced he was serious.

      "If that's a bluff, then I'm calling it." Hammond reached into his desk drawer and drew out the diary. The carelessly sketched flowers on the front tugged at Maybourne, as he reached out for the diary and placed it firmly in Davis's hands.

      "You were the last person to see her alive. Read it."

      He sat down and rested his hands carefully in his lap. The pose looked relaxed at first glance, but he knew that he was giving himself away to anyone trained to read body language. The hands kept still so that they couldn't betray him by agitated moves or tremors; body shaped to the chair so that tension wouldn't keep him bolt upright; eyes focused on his hands so that they wouldn't stare at Davis's face and blatantly struggle to read every changing nuance of his expression. His calf muscles were cramping and he knew without bothering to count that his pulse was way too rapid. Every time Davis turned a page, his heart beat an irregular thud.

      Half way through, Davis paused. "What happened?"

      No need to ask which bit he was reading. "She came into my room in the middle of the last night. Wanted to say goodbye. I thought she wanted to say goodbye in a rather more intimate way. Turned out that I was wrong. Nothing actually happened." _Nothing that I choose to share with you. I'm not going to tell you how it feels to kiss her, or what it's like to hold her in my arms. She gave that to me, and I'm keeping it._

      "She had a crush on you," Davis said. "Anyone could see that."

      Hammond sat up straighter. "You were the officer in command of this base and you took advantage of her."

      "Just the once." He stuck his lower lip out slightly. "After that, I became a reformed character."

      Hammond gave him a look that said 'shut up' without any need for words. Maybourne shrugged with an awkward jerk. Humour was the only safety valve he had. It was either that or start screaming.

      Had Cassandra had a crush on him? Was that how it had looked to an outsider? Such a crude word to describe something so complex.

      Davis turned the last page, read it, and Maybourne's nerves racked up another notch as he read it again. He tapped the tip of his index finger on the paper.

      "Cassandra seemed okay when she was with me," he said. "If she was taken as a host, how do you know Nirrti didn't write the entire thing?"

      "I'm certain the facts can be verified," Hammond said, in a voice that seemed to come from a great distance.

      The world was spinning around him and he couldn't move from the centre. An impossible inertia gripped him as he tried to grapple with the concept. Nirrti. The symbiote had all the knowledge of the host...

      "The symbiote has all the knowledge of the host," Davis said. "I concede the possibility of suicide, especially if she was correct about the past of both Maybournes being similar, but she came though everything else without breaking. Why do it now when things were starting to look up for her?"

      He hadn't seen it. It had been there in front of him and he hadn't seen it. Too wrapped up in his own pain and guilt to even consider other possibilities. Locke had been right: she'd forgiven him.

      The tension was draining out of him, oozing through drooping fingertips and draining from slumped muscles. Cassie, had accepted him - not easily and not without reservations, but with that inner stubbornness that allowed her to reach her own decisions regardless of what the world thought. There was a fair chance she'd punch him in the nose if she ever saw him again, but he could live with that as long as he wasn't guilty of her death.

      His heart rang light as he reached out a hand to touch his mental image of her, and he knew with calm certainty that she was alive and that she needed him.

      

      If Maybourne had a conscience - which Hammond was prepared to consider, but not to concede - then appearances suggested that it had just survived a vote of confidence. Maybourne shook himself like a dog emerging from a cold river, triumphantly bearing the ball that he had dived in for, and came to his feet creating a solid silhouette against the star map behind him. It was almost as though he had expanded physically to occupy more of the office.

      "You do realise," he said, and there was an odd glint to his eye, "that if any of the diary is fake, then there's only one possible interpretation. The whole thing was pre-planned." He leaned forward, weight on his palms on top of the desk and looked Hammond in the eye. "Nirrti wanted revenge against the SGC and she also wanted Cassandra's DNA. What better way to hang onto Cassandra's genes for future research than to use her as a host? I think Nirrti's demands dovetailed neatly with what Kinsey was prepared to concede. There was no suicide, probably no car accident either. The whole deal with the medal may even have been a ruse to get Cassandra away from Colorado Springs in the first place."

      He was up again, moving, taking Major Davis in the sweep of his attention, acting as though it were no longer Hammond's office, but his. He caught the diary from Davis's hands and whacked it on the desk. "I think _this_ was pure luck. Instead of passing off her death as an accident, they were able to use things in Cassandra's memory to make a convincing case of suicide and put the blame firmly on me."

      "Which I'm still inclined to do," Hammond said. The whole thing sounded like a bad episode of Colombo. "You betrayed your own people and Cassandra knew that."

      Maybourne shook his head: a dismissive sideways flick. "Give me credit for knowing how the NID operate. 

      "Major Davis, I imagine they found you a meeting to attend, as soon as you booked a flight to travel with Cassandra? They had to ensure she'd be on her own at some point." 

      Hammond had always wondered how a pain in the butt like Maybourne had risen to the rank that he had. Now, he was beginning to understand. The man had brains, misapplied ones, but brains nevertheless. He'd gotten Davis into believing his story.

      As though sensing his scepticism, Maybourne rounded on him.

      "General, before you say you can't believe the NID would do such a thing, tell me why you resigned from the SGC?"

      Hammond looked him in the eye, a slow measured look. "I always assumed that you were behind the threat to my grandchildren."

      Maybourne flicked an invisible speck of lint from his shoulder. "Not in my reality." He shrugged cheerfully. "Couldn't have; I was in jail at the time. You might say that's how Jack and I got together; he needed my assistance to get the NID off your back. Come to think of it, I got you back your job in this reality as well. It's traditional to say 'thank you'."

      "I'll see you in hell first."

      There was a strained silence, broken by Davis. "General..."

      Parents should never squabble in front of the children. Davis had served under both of them and was clearly finding the situation difficult.

      He nodded for Davis to continue.

      "Sir, I was there. You weren't. May I speak freely?"

      "You may," Hammond replied.

      "You agree that Nirrti's former host would be dying by now?"

      "Yes." It seemed to be a point of pride for the Goa'uld to keep their original host as long as possible in spite of the resulting dependence on the sarcophagus. Maybe it was the only way they could be sure of convincing their worshippers that they were immortal gods.

      "And that the NID would want to keep control over the knowledge that she represents?"

      He nodded, reluctantly conceding the point. "Go on, son."

      "Then the only remaining question is whether the new host is Cassandra or someone else."

      "And if it's Cassandra," Maybourne said, "then you're almost out of time. Davis, how long since you last saw her?"

      "A week."

      "I don't know what the exact limits are, and you've no Tok'ra to ask, but once the host's immune system has become dependent on the symbiote, you can't separate them without killing the host. It's probably only a week or two at the most."

      Hammond was being pushed and he'd never liked being pushed, by this man least of all. Maybourne was too much like his counterpart for him ever to be able to trust him.

      Yet...

      His eyes focused on a furry blue ear that stuck out of Maybourne's pocket. At the end of the day, you never could tell. And, ultimately, did it matter? Regardless of his personal degree of culpability, Maybourne's argument was starting to make damning sense. Cassandra, not Maybourne, was the one who mattered here, but was there actually anything they could do to help her?

      "You don't know where she's being held," he said. 

      "No need," Maybourne said, "though I could probably find out." He smiled: a quick flash of white teeth. "There are other ways." He nodded at the red phone on the corner of Hammond's desk. "Do you want to do the honours or shall I?" His eyes flickered with amusement at Hammond's expense. "Blackmail is such an interesting art form."

      "I can do my own dirty work."

      Maybourne shrugged with complete equanimity. "As you wish. Just tell Kinsey that I left you an interesting computer disc and that Cassandra should be in the SGC within five hours. Don't take no for an answer."

      When Hammond had been a young man, honour and duty had been clear concepts. He'd always known where he stood and had known beyond question what was right and what was wrong and that the end never justified the means. Time and circumstance had eroded that certainty, but he still hated what he was going to have to do. And hated Maybourne even more for enjoying it.


	14. Reunions

Maybourne finished off his ham and cheese sandwich and wiped his fingers perfunctorily on a napkin before scrunching it into a ball and throwing it at the wall above the bin, where, with inborn cussedness, it bounced the wrong way and ended up on the floor. 

      He really ought to go down to the commissary and get a proper meal. He wasn't sure how many hours it was since he'd eaten, his time sense was a little confused, but he'd certainly never had breakfast.

      What if Cassandra arrived while he was gone?

      The rational side of his mind pointed out that he was perfectly capable of leaving a meal half-eaten, but something more atavistic insisted that if he didn't wait here for her, then she wouldn't arrive.

      What if she did arrive and everything went belly-up anyway? He didn't want to think too much about that possibility.

      The crumpled napkin lay untidily in its corner. He glared at it, but couldn't summon up enough enthusiasm to go and pick it up.

      Maybe it was all coincidence and there really had been an accident.

      What if Cassandra had been brain-dead and there was nothing left of her personality?

      In the end, maybe, it didn't make any difference to what he had to do. He'd made Cassandra a promise, and if killing Nirrti was the only promise to her that he could keep, then so be it.

      Aware of Davis working on the other side of the table, Maybourne opened a couple of files on the screen and tapped vaguely at the keyboard. Hammond had no idea what he was letting himself in for - having a hold over Kinsey would make him a target. Anything that could possibly be used to discredit him would be. It would be no use him hoping that there was nothing that could be used against him - everyone had some skeleton in the closet; it was just a matter of finding out what it was. If Hammond was smart, then he'd learn how the game was played and play it for real - half-measures were a waste of time.

      He transferred a possibly interesting file over to Davis and went hunting for pictures instead. Cassandra had to be on the base files somewhere. Bypassing a couple of security routines, he found her in a matter of minutes and sat a while studying the photograph. Though fairly close to his mental recollection of her, it felt subtly wrong: the face too rounded and lacking the lines of tiredness under the eyes.

      The phone rang and he reached out for it automatically, but Davis was there first.

      "Davis. Yes, Sir. I-" There was a drawn out pause, with a quick glance at Maybourne, before he said, "Understood."

      As he returned the handset the its cradle, Maybourne asked: "Cassandra?"

      "Just entered NORAD. They're bringing her down to the lab now. You can observe from the gallery, but you are not to have any contact of any kind with her. Those are General Hammond's orders."

      "I see." No point in arguing. That would merely give them forewarning. "You know what to do?" 

      Davis nodded. "My hands may be tied though. The official line is that she committed suicide and that they therefore acted reasonably in using her body."

      "And Ma'chello's lie detector?"

      "Has conveniently become inoperable after attempts to investigate its power source. Which provides circumstantial evidence, but not enough to officially justify removing or killing the symbiote."

       _Officially?_ Who gave a damn about 'officially'. He never had. 

      And look where it had got him...

      

      

Davis took a deep breath before entering the lab. This wasn't going to be easy. He'd not known Cassandra that long, but during the crisis she'd struck him as an intelligent young woman being broken under the strain of an impossible situation. She'd looked a lot improved when he'd seen her last week, but, now, she glowed with an inner confidence.

      The red silks of an Indian dancer fell in seductive folds, every hem enriched by hundreds of tiny gold coins stitched to the fabric.

      What would Maybourne make of that? Everything about the outfit, from the bodice top, to the delicate headdress was designed to show off the wearer's figure. There was no denying Maybourne's obsession with Cassandra, the unanswerable question was whether he had it under control. He opened the door and glanced up at the darkened gallery where he could just make out Maybourne's silhouette behind the glass.

       _Dear God, please let Nirrti fall for the bluff, because I don't know what we're going to do otherwise._

      Stepping forward, he gestured to the SF behind him to guard the door.

      "Cassandra."

      Nirrti turned slowly towards him, a slight flick of her hips setting off a musical tinkle from the coins.

       **"Cassandra does not exist any more. Nothing of the host remains."** __

      "I'm here to offer you an option." Davis stood very straight, looking directly into her eyes. "Leave Cassandra, and we'll allow you to live. We know enough to be able to keep you alive until a willing host can be found."

      Nirrti shook her head in a quick negative flick, her hair flowing smoothly as she moved.

       **"If I leave her now, you will not be helping her. She cannot live without me, and even should I wish to leave her, it will be weeks before I am able to take another host without risking my own life.**

       **"Your people have promised my safety. They are well aware of the value of the knowledge that I have."**

      Nearly five thousand years of knowledge. The NID knew that; the government knew that. They all wanted something in exchange for what Nirrti had done to them. Alive, she had knowledge of phase-shift technology, virology, biogenetics and who knew how much else to give them. Dead, she was of interest only to pathologists. A host in good health could seem such a little price to pay, and the need to cover traces of the deed would lead to complicity across the board.

      He needed a way to trick Nirrti into giving herself away, into revealing something that would allow him to act within the context of his orders, but nothing came to mind.

      He looked up at the balcony in silent apology and Nirrti's eyes followed his gaze. Pointless really: although Maybourne would be able to hear proceedings through the speaker in the gallery, the link in the other direction had been disconnected on Hammond's express order to prevent any interference.

      Maybourne's lips moved, but the glass barrier blocked his voice and, as Davis looked back at her, Nirrti gave a slight, self-satisfied smile.

      

      

Sam straightened the cushions, then decided the result looked too formal and threw them into a corner. How did you make a place look welcoming to a child? 

      No toys anywhere... Jack hadn't said if Sunlight had brought anything back with her from the Asgard. What if she'd nothing to play with?

      How could she be a mother without any toys?

      What were they going to do together?

      There would be many long evenings picking Kantele's brain for anything he knew that could help, but she needed to get something right as soon as Sunlight came though the door.

      She twisted the ring on her finger, as though it were some kind of magic talisman.

       _What does memory tell you? That little girl, making mud pies in the garden, what did she like to do? What would Mom have done?_

      It was there, staring her in the face. 

      "Dad, do you mind if we make a mess in the kitchen?"

      "Sure. Steer clear of the spice rack though. Selmak will be very unhappy if you mess those up."

      

      

"Davis!" Maybourne shouted from the doorway, where Rogers barred his entrance.

      "Sir, you're aware of General Hammond's orders."

      "Forget orders." Maybourne pushed hard, twisted sharply, and almost made it thorough. His voice rose sharply in pitch. "You heard her! She needs me here."

      He'd known Maybourne was close to breaking point, hadn't realised that the man had actually snapped.

      "Hold him!" The SF should never have let Maybourne get that close. Why the devil hadn't he used his weapon to force Maybourne to halt? Uncertainty as to his status? Too many people here suspected Maybourne's double identity; it was officially a taboo topic, but that hadn't stopped the inevitable speculation. Hell, half the time, even he was confused.

      "Maybourne! We can't cover both Nirrti and you."

      Reason seemed to penetrate though the madness; Maybourne struggled on for a few moments, then allowed himself to be pinioned, arms behind his back. He stood immobile, breathing heavily.

      "You heard her. You must have."

      Davis stepped outside the room, closed the door carefully and locked it.

      "I'll take it from here, Rogers." He took Maybourne's arm and steered him firmly up towards the gallery. He would spare him the humiliation of an audience, if at all possible.

      "Sit down."

      Maybourne ignored the order. "She needs me."

      People believed what they wanted to believe and if ever a man needed to believe...

      There was no easy way to tell him. He said the words as gently as he could. "She didn't say anything."

      "I heard her," Maybourne insisted. "I have to help her."

      He was no expert, but the psychology was pretty clear to anyone. Maybourne couldn't cope with the guilt. He had to believe Cassandra needed him - it was the only way he could live with himself.

      "I can play you back the tape. Do you want me to get it?"

      Maybourne sank slowly into the chair and shook his head, while Davis tried to figure out what to do next. There were only so many logical steps that he could take, and very few took him in helpful directions.

      Down below, Nirrti occupied herself by sketching with a pencil on one of the paper pads he'd left in the lab. From what he could make out at this distance, the drawing looked to be highly technical. Nirrti looked up once and smiled in amusement. The unspoken message didn't need to be explained to either of them.

      Maybourne's shoulders slumped, as he stared down through the glass. "Use Ma'chello's device," he said, without looking up.

      "You know I can't. My orders were very specific. I can only harm Nirrti if I can prove that Cassandra was taken against her will." Besides the device was dangerous to non-Goa'ulded humans like himself. Maybourne had said that Dr Fraiser in his reality had found a cure in the blood of a former host. Which was all very well, but Dr Fraiser in this reality was dead.

      "Hammond?" Maybourne asked.

      "Believes it was suicide. He'd like to free Cassandra regardless, but he only dares risk things to a certain point. The situation here is complex; the latest poll showed Kinsey to be incredibly popular across all demographic groupings. You know Nirrti has us over a barrel: we do need what she knows."

      "So you've turned into me?"

      And just what the hell was that supposed to mean? All right, he could guess, but it didn't make for pleasant thoughts. He'd worked with this man, respected him, and preferred not to think too deeply about what Cassandra's diary had implied.

      Besides, _he_ was obeying orders. If you didn't respect the chain of command then the whole system fell to pieces. General Maybourne - and possibly this Maybourne too - had disobeyed orders, acted on his own with the support of rogue elements in the NID, and look what had happened.

      "Tell me," he demanded. "Tell me how to prove it wasn't suicide and I'll find a way to trick Nirrti into using Ma'chello's page-turning gadget."

      "Do you believe it was suicide?" Maybourne countered.

      Davis hesitated. To a man in Maybourne's mental state, doubt would only come across as denial, but he had to call it as it came. His career could be on the line here.

      "I don't know," he said. "I honestly don't know."

      "You can prove it," Maybourne said. "Kill Nirrti and ask Cassandra afterwards."

      "And if you're wrong, I get court-martialled. You're asking me to risk my life, my career and my family."

      Maybourne came slowly, heavily, to his feet. There was a wild, distracted look to him that made Davis take a step back for safety.

      "I'm already dead," Maybourne said, "the Asgard killed me. I have no career; the Air Force court-martialled me long ago. My adopted daughter has been reclaimed by her father, and as for the only woman in my life..." He wrapped his arms around his head and, before Davis could stop him, took a clumsy step sideways and crashed through the window, diving down to the floor below, with the glass falling in silent shards beside him.

      

      

She was by the door the instant the bell rang, opening it while Sunlight, lifted up by Jack, still had her hand stretched out.

      Sunlight clung to Jack, looking at her uncertainly.

      If it was hard for her to bridge the gap between 'Aunty Sam' and 'Mom', then it was going to be equally confusing for Sunlight. A child's memory might be short, but there was a lot of pain in her life that wasn't going to be forgotten overnight.

      Sam reached out and touched her daughter gently on the cheek. "I thought," she said, "that we could do some cooking."

       **"I'm hungry,** " Kantele said helpfully. **"Could you make me a milkshake and some cookies?"**

      "What flavour?" Sam asked, addressing the question to Sunlight.

      The answer was a whisper, but at least it was there. "Banana."

      There was ice-cream in the freezer and thankfully Dad turned out to have some banana milkshake mix from a month ago. Had Kantele known that? Probably.

      Sunlight was a slow worker, dropping things on the floor and forgetting what she was supposed to be doing, but they got there in the end. Jack sat quietly on a stool as they worked, making occasional encouraging noises and thanking Sunlight for his milkshake when it was ready. From the occasional impulsive twitch of his hand, you could tell that he wanted to do more, but he held back.

      It reminded her oddly of the first time she'd been in command of SG-1. Jack wasn't a back seat driver: doing nothing was his way of saying that he trusted her. And by the same token, she could involve him without feeling that she was losing face in any way.

      "Sunlight, what sort of cookie would Daddy like?"

      Sunlight was slow to respond, quiet in this as in everything else. Sam bent down and whispered in her ear, "I think he'd like chocolate chip."

      Sunlight nodded cautiously.

      Working on the cookie dough seemed to relax her a little. Creaming the butter and sugar allowed them both to taste the work in progress. Adding an egg meant they could push the yolk around in its slippery sac until it burst when stabbed hard with the spoon, leaving a yellow trail to be stirred into the mixture. Sieving the flour was actually fun. Sunlight rattled the sieve back and forth sending a white cloud into the air as well as a shower into the mixing bowl.

      Mixing everything together was a team effort, Sam and Sunlight holding the spoon together and forcing it round the bowl. A blender would have been faster, but speed wasn't the aim of the game. Her hands were getting covered in flour in spite of her best efforts and getting the dough out of the bowl in one lump was going to get them even messier regardless of what she did. Her mother's ring would get covered in the stuff.

      She dusted the flour off her hands and grasped the ring in order to remove it.

      Seemingly without moving, Jack was by her side. He took her left hand, palm upwards, and kissed it softly at the base of the ring finger.

       **"Keep it. It symbolises hope."**

      Someone tugged at her sleeve - someone small.

      "Mommy."

      She looked down, but left her hand in Jack's. She could feel his fingers - Kantele's - tracing gently over the wedding ring. Her mother's ring: the ring that had been on the finger of the woman Jacob loved.

      "We haven't finished the cookies," Sunlight said.

      "All right, we'll roll the dough out now."

      So, they rolled out the dough, and some of it got all over her ring, and some of it got in Sunlight's hair and Jack/Kantele kept cheekily stealing bits and blaming it on each other, and Sunlight almost smiled.

      

      

Maybourne hit the floor with a shock that wrenched his knee badly and left him sprawled in a field of broken glass. Numbed by the impact, he couldn't move for a few moments, but managed to pull himself together enough to drag himself up against a nearby table and use it to haul himself to his feet. The data tablet and the page turning device were in a compartmentalised tray, carefully separated from one another.

      Seizing one in each hand, he lurched towards Nirrti.

      Unexpectedly, she took a step backwards. **"Do not seek to trick me with your booby traps. I have seen Goa'uld killed by these devices."**

      Ma'chello had been a busy man... If Nirrti wouldn't activate the device, then that only left one choice. The part of his mind that was still capable of comprehending irony found the situation amusing; he'd already died once today, what difference did a second time make? It wasn't as if he could think of a single reason why he actually wanted to carry on living. He zigzagged the small hemisphere of the page-turner again and again over the tablet and watched with an abstract fascination as half-a-dozen tiny bumps slid under his skin from the device and moved in a steady progression up his arm.

      If he wasn't insane already, this would finish off the process - Doctor Jackson had ended up in a mental institution...

      "I don't care," he said to the world at large.

       **"Stop him."**

      "I'm unable to do that," Davis said. "Anyone touching him runs the risk of being infected." His voice gave no clue as to whether this was a source of annoyance or satisfaction.

      Nirrti dodged away round a table, but her movements were awkward, misplaced. He chased after her, skidding on broken glass, colliding with monitors. Everything around him was changing colour, becoming distorted in kaleidoscopic whorls. The reds and golds of Nirrti's costume were mutating into draconic scales that covered her in a skin-tight armour.

       **"Shoot him!"**

      "My orders don't cover this situation," Davis said, with cold indifference. "I'd have to consult General Hammond, before I do anything that might kill Maybourne. The Air Force honours its debts."

       **"If he touches me, I will kill the host."**

       _She'd rather be dead_. The dragon's jaws vented hot, carrion breath and shadowed wings beat enormous strokes that took up half the room. Hallucination or not, Maybourne couldn't help but duck under them as he dived towards the scaled belly of the creature. It screamed in fury at him, a high-pitched assault that pierced his head with agony.

      As he caught hold of its scaled foreleg, he felt Cassandra's wrist in his hand, human and real. He pulled her towards him and they fell to the floor, his weight pinning her across the legs.

      "Fight," he whispered to her with what remained of his strength. _"Fight."_

      

      Harry's touch grounded her, gave an extra dimension to her struggle for existence. She focused her hatred, forced it at Nirrti, hurled it javelin-like at the heart of her enemy.

      Her breath was coming hard, her throat constricting as though she were choking. Her heart thumped oddly, its beat too slow. She opened her mouth and struggled to breathe deep, fighting for control of each muscle. Air entered slowly, syrup-like, every breath gained a step towards self-preservation.

      With each breath, she refined the hatred, poured out the pain of being a prisoner in her own body, fought to do to Nirrti what Nirrti had done to her.

      Now, she felt Nirrti's own pain and confusion. The symbiote was struggling, not just against her, but against something else. The nerves that connected her to Cassandra's limbs and organs were being severed one by one, inching her towards oblivion. Hate fuelled Nirrti's struggle, even as it did Cassandra's. Hatred for her host, hatred for Maybourne, hatred for the entire SGC: hatred that wrapped around Cassandra's heart and finally slowed it to an unwilling halt.

      Images assailed Cassandra's mind: the children who'd laughed at the gaps in her knowledge; the school work she'd found so hard; the deaths of Jack, Sam and her mother; the lives she'd been unable to save; the worthlessness of her entire existence. _Give up,_ Nirrti cajoled. _Death is peaceful._ __

       _Fight,_ Harry demanded. _I need you to live._

      His fist thumped her chest, and her heart gave a single thud in response.

       _Again_ , she demanded of herself. She visualised her body. It was hers and it would do what _she_ wanted it to do.

      Another beat.

      Another.

      Her hands clenched into fists, _her_ fists, finally obeying her.

      She became aware of a heavy weight across her lower body. She commanded her eyes to investigate and saw Harry lying on his side, half-curled, not even looking in her direction.

      "Get off me." The words came hard, her voice feeling oddly alien. 

      "I-" He jerked awkwardly and curled even tighter.

      His hand was still wrapped tight around her wrist and trying to sit up without breaking her arm wasn't the easiest thing in the world, but she managed somehow to wriggle sideways and tip him off.

      "Harry?" She shook him by the shoulder, but he only moaned and clutched his head in his hands.

      Could Nirrti have gone into him?

      No, she couldn't sense any naqadah in his body.

      So, what was wrong with him?

      "Cassandra?"

      She looked up into the eyes of Major Davis. He stood several feet away from her with a wary expression on his face.

      "What's wrong with-" She stopped. Something was oozing out of her left ear; she put her finger up to feel a blob of jelly.

      "Ugh."

      Another blob oozed out and landed with a soft plop on the floor.

      "Two," Davis said, then, "Three," as another blob exited.

      "Four."

       _I have delivered you from the vile Goa'uld._ The voice, oddly-accented, sounded like that of an old man - certainly not Harry. For a moment, she doubted the identity of the man lying beside her, but her hand reassured her: it was Harry.

      "What's happened to him?" she demanded of Davis.

      Davis looked hesitant. "I don't know how many of Ma'chello's bugs Maybourne absorbed. Four went into you, but I think some may still be in him. We had a lab accident a couple of years ago in which a man got infected. First he went insane and then a week later he died.

       _No cure?_ Her hand clutched convulsively at Harry's jacket. _I've lost too many people._ Hoping against the face of the evidence that Davis was wrong, her fingers reached round for the pulse point in Maybourne's neck. Roughness under her fingertips made her consciously aware for the first time that he'd grown a beard. His pulse was fast, too fast.

      "Was this why you lied to him?" she asked Davis. "To stop this from happening?"

      Davis's brow lowered. "I didn't lie."

      "You said you didn't hear me!"

      "You didn't say anything. Maybourne was hallucinating."

      She'd seen Harry there in the gallery, when Nirrti looked up, cried out to him for help with everything that she had in her. "I was _s_ _creaming_."

      "Coincidence, I'm afraid," Davis said sympathetically. "You have to realise that Maybourne's obsessed with you. It may be that you gained a degree of control for a moment and he read something in your face, but trust me, he was ready to grasp at any straw that offered itself. The Aesir did something to him - he's a complete basket case."

      

      

Rak'nor jumped a checker over two of Teal'c's to capture them both.

      Teal'c contemplated the move. It left Rak'nor ahead in terms of captures.

      "A passable move," he observed. "You improve at this game."

      "I have been playing Sergeant Morrison. I do not speak his language well, but he was able to demonstrate the rules adequately."

      Yet another demonstration of Doctor Frasier's thoroughness. As soon as Rak'nor began to show signs of recovery, she had introduced him to Morrison in the next bed. Morrison, a tall black man with an easy-going manner, was recovering from a bout of malaria. Bored, and eager for company, the two had got on well in spite of their cultural differences.

      He studied Rak'nor's face while considering his next move. The young Jaffa's skin colour was good and his eye bright. If it hadn't been for the tubes in his arm, one might have assumed him to be in perfect health. Doctor Fraiser had likened the set-up to a dialysis machine, but had neglected to explain what a dialysis machine was. It was often that way with the Tau'ri; he had found the best solution was to remain silent. If the unknown word was important, it would usually become quickly clear what it was, and if not, Daniel Jackson would fill him in later.

      Rak'nor followed his eye, but said nothing. To be dependent on a machine was a sign of weakness, and warriors who were weak were abandoned.

      Teal'c considered his move instead. Rak'nor had played well, but he was making insufficient use of the forced capture rule. He moved a red piece forward to where Rak'nor would be forced to take it.

      Rak'nor moved to capture, then hesitated, restudied the board and bowed his head in respect to Teal'c.

      "I see, I still have much to learn about this game."

      "Often," Teal'c said, "a sacrifice can be made to great tactical advantage." He pointed to the adjacent tank, where the Goa'uld fed on Rak'nor's blood, and indicated the equipment that filtered its byproducts from the water and fed them back to Rak'nor. "This is not a defeat. It is a sign to all Jaffa that the Goa'uld can be enslaved. If a single Goa'uld can be kept alive in this way, then so can a queen. If we can capture a queen alive, then we will have a supply of new symbiotes for centuries."

       _We have to find a supply. Not just for you, not just for all of our people, but for myself. When Rya'c reached puberty, I gave him my symbiote so that he would live. That symbiote was already three years old. Rya'c's time is nearly come, and I wish my son to live._

      

      

_Harry?_ She stroked a knuckle around the soft skin below his ear, but there was no response. _Harry, Davis says you'll die. You said our realities were similar; did they find a cure in yours?_

      Maybourne jerked suddenly, raised a hand as though to fend off an unseen opponent, and cried out: "Don't touch the fire!"

      "Harry," she shook him hard. "There's no fire. You've been infected by whatever you used to kill Nirrti."

      "Help me," she said to Davis. "We have to get him to the infirmary."

      "I can't. It could infect me if I touch him."

      For an irrational moment, she wanted to kick his teeth in, but he was only doing what she'd have recommended if she'd actually thought about it. She wasn't thinking straight; maybe she never had thought straight where Harry was concerned. "At least get a doctor."

      "The base medical staff don't know he's here. The whole level is in quarantine. If word gets out that he's here, he'll never be able to go home."

      "You mean, he'd have to stand trial as General Maybourne?"

      Davis nodded.

      "No." She said it automatically, without thought. "He'd rather die now."

      "Why?"

      "Because-" _Because the General was the part of himself that he hated._ "It's personal. He told me things in confidence."

      "Because he'd committed the same crime in his own reality and didn't want to have to face up to that?"

      "The difference between him and the General," she said fiercely, "is that the General knew why the Aesir abandoned us. He knew we needed their help days before SG-1 arrived and he did nothing."

      Davis held out a familiar pale-blue book. "Then you didn't write this?"

      She snatched it out of his hand. "You read my _diary_?"

      The look on his face left no room for doubt.

      She flicked frantically through the pages, trying to remember what she'd written, how much of her private self she'd bared in the pages. Davis was saying something, but she wasn't listening. Oh God, they knew about Harry. Her skin crawled; other people's knowledge of that kiss made it feel like a cheap scene from a dirty movie. What must they think of her? She knew she was turning red, buried her face in the next page to try and hide it. She could remember writing this, remembered the Jefferson Memorial, remembered sitting with all the flowers there, remembered the men who had come to tell her they needed her help.

      There was too much writing in the entry... She read to the bottom, read it again in disbelief. ' _Just another murderer'._

      "I didn't write _this_ page. Did..." She struggled to keep her voice under control. "Who else read it?"

      "Hammond." His eyes glanced down at Harry. "Maybourne."

      "You thought-" The words choked in her throat. Harry thought... _You stupid crazy_ bastard _._ _You fell for it, didn't you? You thought I'd killed myself because of you?_

       _Well, I have news for you: you're not the only person in my life; you're not even the only person I care about; you're just the only one who can drive me completely mad._

       _I know you're not the General. Happy? You are..._ And she still had no words for it, nothing to describe the way she felt about him: the complex tangle of anger, exasperation, physical attraction, affection and everything else piled together that was her relationship with Harry Maybourne. 

      His hand groped blindly towards her and she grasped it firmly.

      "Fight," she whispered to him. "Fight, and we'll find a way out."

      "Doctor Frasier," Davis said. "Your mother knows what to do, but we'd have to visit his reality."

      "We can get there?"

      Davis nodded. "If General Hammond okays it, I'll take you both through the Gate. But time may be tight; the Aesir are going to cut off the only route back to this reality."

      "I want to see my mother," Cassandra whispered. "I feel all sick inside. I think Nirrti did something to me. I want to go home."


	15. Finale

Fraiser's feet hit the floor in rapid staccato beats as she raced down the corridor towards the Gate room. Her mind clicked automatically through the possiblities as she ran: SG-11 were in a combat zone, but SG-2 were exploring an ice-field while carrying out magnetic studies. Anything from staff-weapon injuries to severe frostbite could be on the cards.

      She came though the giant door and stopped full-halt in shock.

      "Cassie! My God, Cassie, what happened?"

      Cassandra, pale, sweating and dressed in the most ridiculous fancy-dress costume, leaned for support on a gurney which in turn supported an unconscious man. Their escort was Major Davis but, apart from registering his presence, she paid him no immediate attention - he wasn't the patient.

      Curled into a foetal position, the man on the gurney seemed oblivious of the people around him, but the fingers of his left hand were tightly interlaced with Cassandra's.

      "Mom." Cassie sounded awkward; her eyes flicked around the Gate room, never settling on one spot. "It isn't really me."

      "I know. My Cassie is visiting friends. It doesn't matter; I'm still your mother." She started forward to get a better look at her patient in order to make a quick diagnosis, but Davis blocked her path.

      "Don't touch him," Davis said quickly. "He's been infected by Ma'chello's page-turning device. He said that you'd know what to do and that the cure was in Cassandra's blood."

      Cassie's blood? She'd treated the problem last time with an extract of Sam's blood. As a former host, Sam carried the protein marker from a dead Goa'uld that convinced Ma'chello's bugs that their task was complete.

      Cassie had been a host?

      Professionalism warred with the need to comfort her daughter and won for the instant - Ma'chello's devices were deadly.

      "Davis, get him to the infirmary. Cassie, how many bugs does he have in him and how long ago was he infected?"

      It was Davis who replied, talking crisply even as he manoeuvred the gurney. "One, two or three, maybe. It's hard to be certain. It's been at least twenty minutes. It took me longer than I anticipated to get the gurney through the Gates via Ma'chello's lab. I'd guess Maybourne's been unconscious for at least half that time. Cassandra's been getting worse too. We killed Nirrti, but there's some kind of aftereffect."

      Maybourne! She looked again at the figure on the gurney as she walked beside it, now seeing past the blue utility garments and the unfamiliar beard to the face she detested.

       _Set it aside. He's in your care for now._

      Cassie stumbled.

      "Cassie! Let go of him, then I can support you. I daren't touch you while you're in contact with anyone infected."

      "I... He..." She pulled her hand free and held it out imploringly.

      Whatever the poor child had been though, it must have been hell. Fraiser caught her in her arms and held Cassie's head against her shoulder. This girl had to be from Sunlight's reality: the Cassandra Jack had spoken of so movingly, struggling to care for the sick in the SGC whilst trying to cope with her own traumas.

      "You're safe, my sweet. I'll take care of you for as long as I can." Though that might not be for very long. Two Cassandra's couldn't coexist in one reality; they'd discovered that long ago when Sam's duplicate came through the quantum mirror.

      She stroked the girl's hair, feeling the soft sheen of it and longing to be able to run a comb through it as she had done when Cassandra was younger. This Cassandra needed the chance to be a little girl again, to be able to let go and allow someone else to take the responsibility for a while.

      Professionalism reasserted itself, and she quickly grabbed a passing airman to help her support Cassandra's weight quickly to the infirmary.

      "Is your blood group still A positive?" she asked Cassandra, as they walked.

      "Yes, but I don't know what..."

      "He'll be in the data base." They steered Cassandra through the infirmary door and lifted her onto an empty bed next to Maybourne's gurney. "If his blood group is different from yours, then I'll have to spend time removing the components of your blood that will clot. If it's the same, then I'll just inject directly. Time may be critical here."

      Cassandra lay limp, staring up at the ceiling, as Frasier whipped tubing round her arm to increase the blood volume. Her breathing was laboured and there was a yellow tinge to the white of her eye.

      "Reynolds," she called to her senior nurse, "find Colonel Maybourne's blood group, stat. Then pull up all records relating to Shan'auc's autopsy and Major Carter's records immediately after Jolinar died."

      "He really is a colonel?" Cassandra asked faintly.

      "He was." She inserted the syringe and withdrew it full of blood. "He's a traitor and a thoroughly nasty piece of work. Keep away from him."

      Some expressions transcended universes. She'd known Cassandra for four years now, and that stubborn set to her jaw needed no words to accompany it.

      "A positive," Reynolds called out.

      No time to argue now; she had to get the blood into Maybourne. A man could survive for several days with just one of Ma'chello's bugs in his system, but if she was any judge then Maybourne was as far gone as she had been when she'd gotten infected, and she'd had three in her system and had only just made it.

      Apart from an occasional twitch, Maybourne lay completely motionless, curled up tight with his head buried in his arms. She'd been there; it wasn't a pleasant memory.

      "Maybourne," she said brusquely, "I'm just going to give you an injection."

      He showed no sign of having heard.

      She hesitated a moment; if he moved while she was injecting him, then there was a chance of them touching. She tapped the back of his hand with the side of the syringe, but there was no response of any kind.

      She inserted the needle and pressed the plunger with a practised hand.

      For ten long seconds, nothing happened. She was aware of Cassandra's accusing gaze and of Davis trying hard not to look at his watch. Then, a brown blob began to ooze out of Maybourne's ear, closely followed by a second. She quickly moved a kidney bowl into position to catch them for later analysis.

      Maybourne's shoulders relaxed and his breathing deepened. His arms uncurled; he blinked his eyes and slowly pushed himself to a sitting position. He looked slowly round him, before speaking.

      "Doctor Fraiser," he said finally, with condescending politeness, "I believe I owe you a debt of gratitude."

      "Then you can best repay it by getting out of my infirmary as quickly as possible." She glanced over at the doorway where two armed guards stood. "Inform General Hammond that Colonel Maybourne has _fully_ recovered."

      

      Cassandra flinched. The venom in her mother's voice was painful to hear, just as painful as the dislike in Harry's. Why couldn't life be like a children's story where the people you cared about came together because they both loved you?

      "Harry?" She held out a hand towards him.

      He swung his legs over the edge of the gurney, with surprising ease, and came to stand beside her. He took her hand in a light grip and placed it back on the bed. She stretched out her fingers, but he ignored the proffered contact.

      "How is she?" His concern sounded professional, rather than personal.

      "Is it safe to take her home?" Davis added. "We can't stay long; the Aesir will close the route via Ma'chello's lab and the quantum mirror has already been decommissioned."

      "I need to run some tests," Janet said. "When a symbiote dies, the effects can vary. If organs are ruptured, there may be a sudden release of toxins."

      "That is how my father died," a voice said from behind her. It was good to hear Teal'c again, there was something so reassuring and solid about him. "Cronus crushed the symbiote inside his pouch. Shan'auc was murdered in the same way by Tanith."

      Harry's brow lowered. "Major Carter survived," he said quickly.

      "Jolinar was Tok'ra," Janet said sharply. "She was mortally injured by the ashrak, but did all she could to protect Major Carter from the effects of her death. Even then, Sam was sick for a couple of weeks."

      "Nirrti wanted to kill me." Even the words were an effort now; speaking made her feel nauseous. She wanted to say that if it hadn't been for Harry she might not have made it at all, but Harry wasn't even looking at her. His eyes roved restlessly over the infirmary, but at least whenever Janet spoke, he paid attention.

      "I'm not going to let Nirrti win," Janet said. "You've come this far on your own; now you've got me with you."

      Behind Janet's back, Harry's face twisted into an unpleasant irony.

      Why was he being like this? He'd never treated her this way before. She was too tired to try and work it out. All she knew was that she wanted his support and he wasn't giving it. _You saved my life, but you won't hold my hand._

      "I'm going to take some more blood," Janet said. "Just a small sample for tests. I need to see how much of the toxin is present."

      "Is there likely to be anything that will help?" Davis asked.

      Janet looked down at her and hesitated a moment before replying. "When dealing with toxins, the most important thing is often good nursing care, to help the patient survive the effects of the toxin while the body clears it out of the system." _And don't ask what I will do if the toxic load is more than she can cope with. Nursing care got Sam though this, but I think Jolinar chose to die in a way that avoided the organ ruptures that could have killed Sam. Nirrti may well have done the opposite and deliberately mixed her body fluids with Cassandra's._

      

      

"I'm sorry, Colonel, but that's out of the question."

      Even over the phone, O'Neill knew the expression that would be on Hammond's face. It was the one that said: 'this is the Air Force and there are regulations'.

      "General," he said carefully, "I know Maybourne's a pain, but I owe him a debt that I can never repay."

      Sunlight, sitting on Sam's knee, was listening to the story that Jacob was reading her. At least, O'Neill hoped she was listening, as he really did _not_ want her overhearing this conversation. He'd have taken the call in the bedroom, if he'd thought Sunlight would allow him to leave her sight.

       _Why did Maybourne come back here?_ Kantele wondered. __

_If he was dying, he may not have had much choice._

       _A death sentence is an improvement on dying?_

      "I am well aware of what you owe Maybourne," Hammond said. "I am also well aware that he was convicted of treason against several of our allies including the Tok'ra. We currently have several Tok'ra refugees on the base. I won't allow Maybourne to destroy that alliance."

      "He's helped us on more than one occasion. Is this how we repay him?"

      "Concealing an escaped prisoner carries a three year sentence. Just how many members of this command do you wish to be implicated?" The real hell of it was that Hammond was right. "Jack, take it through the proper channels and maybe you'll be able to negotiate a sentence reduction in recognition of the help Maybourne has given us in the past."

      "And maybe pigs will fly. Past favours don't count squat."

       _And you'd still run the risk of ending up in jail yourself._ He wasn't sure if that thought was his or Kantele's, but he still hated himself for acknowledging it.

       _Look, Pal, Maybourne took a death rap for Sunlight. He wouldn't want us to bargain for him if we got landed in jail as a result._

       _Ya think?_

       _Sunlight wouldn't be able to cope with the shock_.

      He'd accepted Harry's right to to offer his life for Sunlight's. What would he want if he was in Harry's position now? It was hard to second-guess, and equally hard to be sure that his own desires weren't influencing his guesses.

      "I'll be asked to explain how Maybourne came to be on this base," Hammond said.

       _We landed him in that situation..._

       _If Maybourne says he went through the SGC's quantum mirror, then Hammond will be as guilty as we are because he knew where Maybourne was and didn't turn him in._

      It was a whole new can of worms. Was there any way of explaining Maybourne' presence without landing everyone in the soup? He couldn't even start to think it through: to work out who knew what and who'd lied about what. Subterfuge didn't come easily to O'Neill, but some people drank it in with the air they breathed.

      "Don't explain, Sir. Leave it to Maybourne; if he's good at anything, it's creative lying." __

"You think he'll cover the SGC's involvement?"

      "Yes." __

"Can you be sure of that?" __

"Yeah." _Definitely. Well, almost._

      "I hope you're right, Jack." Hammond sounded old and weary. "If you want to speak to him, do it soon. There's a squad coming to collect him. They'll be here in another hour."

      

      

Fraiser rubbed her eyes. Staring too long at the monitor made them feel dry and itchy. Probably too much dust in the air, though the filters ought to deal with that. Maybe it was static on the screen. Or maybe she was just tired and stressed. It would be so much easier if she didn't have to send Cassie back to her own reality in a few hours. With so few nursing staff, what kind of quality of care could they provide?

      Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Daniel. He was talking quietly to Cassandra, telling her some story about his grandfather. Daniel was good at that; he could give the kind of quiet support that helped a patient focus on something other than their illness without tiring them out. In doing so, he made her task easier. Knowing he was with Cassie made it easier for her to concentrate on what she had to do.

      The toxin wasn't always fatal, but it was when the dose was high enough. Shan'auc's autopsy had revealed clearly how it acted - her symbiote had been crushed by Tanith, leading to an almost instant overdose. Sam had gotten off much more lightly. Jolinar's organs had been fatally damaged by the ashrak, but Jolinar had chosen to concentrate all her remaining energy on reducing the amount of her body fluids entering Sam's body. The same load had been absorbed in the final analysis, but it had been gradually over a couple of weeks as Sam's body slowly absorbed Jolinar's remains.

      Why did the symbiote produce the toxin in the first place? The ability to kill a host had no evolutionary advantage.

      Maybourne drifted past. He picked a mechanical pencil, examined it, put it down, and reached out for a stethoscope.

      "Stop that!"

      He raised a casual eyebrow.

      "If you touch anything else, I'll have you thrown out."

      He clicked his heels together. "Ja, mein Führer."

      "Or I could just have you thrown out anyway."

      Taking the hint, he moved away from her and 'behaved' himself by going and watching Rak'nor's symbiote as it twined around its artificial backbone. Rak'nor maintained the symbiote, the symbiote maintained Rak'nor. Perfect balance.

      Why have a substance that was toxic to the host?

      Because it was essential to the symbiote. Humans produced a myriad of chemicals in their bodies: hormones, pheromones, ATP, RNA, amino acids; the list could fill a textbook. Goa'uld were every bit as complex as humans, but they had evolved into a state of dependency on hosts. Like any parasite, they took much of what they needed from their host, and only made internally what they couldn't get from outside.

      For a substance to be made in quantity in the symbiote, it had to be important for survival and unobtainable from the host. But suppose it became available from the host... Suppose that the energy involved in manufacturing it could be saved?

      She knew from Maybourne's research how long a Jaffa could survive without a symbiote; that time might just be enough to save Cassandra's life.

      

      "Cassie." Mom was all action, all of a sudden. "We're going to try and use Rak'nor's symbiote to filter your blood. I don't know if it will work, but I'll take regular readings to see if the level of the toxin in your blood decreases."

      "How long will it take," Davis asked, as Janet fiddled around removing tubes from Rak'nor's arm.

      "I don't know. I'd expect twelve to twenty-four hours if it works at all." She disconnected the tubing from a tank containing a Goa'uld symbiote and wheeled the tank over to Cassandra's bed.

      She'd always hated having needles in her arm. She didn't mind injections, it was when the needle had to remain there. The idea of the piece of metal inside her body violated some deep inner instinct, and the idea of being linked, no matter how indirectly to another Goa'uld...

      She bit her lip to fight down the panic attack; this was a medical procedure; it was necessary; she had to be rational and accept it. Another Goa'uld.

      Mom was sterilising all the equipment and finding fresh I.V. tubing. It wouldn't do to have any of Rak'nor's blood in her body. Harry was watching her. She knew it without even looking. Her blood was in his veins now - it was an odd feeling. She'd never had HIV or hepatitis or any other blood-borne disease, so at least there was no risk to Harry, but Rak'nor had lived on alien worlds all his life and might carry things that she had no immunity to.

      Davis was hovering, there was really no other word to describe it.

      "When will she be able to go back? The Aesir are going to close the portal."

      While connecting the I.V. line to the tank, Janet replied, "Unless you have another symbiote, there's nothing you can do for her back there."

      Another symbiote. Somewhere, somehow, she had a feeling that there should be one: a symbiote that wouldn't hurt her. If only she could remember where.

      "Can Cassandra stay here?" Davis asked.

      "No." Janet swabbed alcohol over the back of Cassandra's hand. "There's interference between the realities. One person cannot exist twice in the same reality. After a few days, the newcomer will develop seizures and die." She slid the needle carefully in and taped it in place.

      Harry tapped a finger against the glass of the tank. She could see his reflection staring at her. "Is the interference electromagnetic in nature?"

      Janet ignored him, more concerned with connecting a second needle to Cassandra's upper arm.

      "Cassandra can manipulate her body's e-m field."

      "That," her mother said sharply, " was a short-term effect caused by Nirrti's retrovirus."

      "I think," Harry said, "that the virus simply enhanced something that was already there."

      Had it? It made sense in a way. Nirrti's plague on Earth had spared those who had even a trace of a mutant skill. She'd survived that, so she must still have the potential inside her. 

      But how? And did she even want to? There were people she loved here, but it wasn't her home.

      How had she used the ability before? She could remember the chess piece turning and turning, obeying the command of her mind as though she'd always known how to do it. It was as instinctive as reaching out a hand to pick up a mug.

      When the ability had been switched on by the virus, she'd automatically known how to use it. As it was, she'd nothing to use and no idea of how to use it even if she had.

      "Can you test for it?" Davis asked.

      She really felt for him. He wouldn't abandon her, but every minute he spent here was a risk. He would get trapped as well if the portal was closed. Did he exist here too? She had to ask.

      "Is there another Major Davis?"

      Janet nodded. "There's a high risk for both of you in remaining. Major, you should go now."

      He stood firm. "I have a responsibility to Cassandra."

      "And I have a responsibility to you. If you remain here, you may endanger your own life. The moment I think the toxin levels are low enough for her to survive without a symbiote, I'll send her back."

      "And if she can stay here?"

      "Former hosts make such fascinating subjects for study," Harry said, with a sneer.

      "You should know," Janet snapped.

      "She might be in danger from President Kinsey," Davis said, "but not here surely?"

      "No." Janet connected up another tube for blood to leave the symbiote's tank. "She has friends here." She didn't even glance at Maybourne as she said it. 

      

      

O'Neill swung the pick-up around into the Cheyenne Mountain car park and parked more or less evenly between the painted white lines of a bay. He had mixed feelings about this, but then he had mixed feelings about all sorts of things these days. This was going to be distressing for Sunlight, but taking her to visit Maybourne in prison would be worse. He'd promised her she'd see Harry again...

      Walking from the sunshine into the dark of the mountain's entrance had rarely felt more difficult. Even with Sam walking beside him, holding Sunlight's other hand, he had the oddest feeling that he was being swallowed in the throat of some giant creature grown of stone.

       _You just don't want to tell Maybourne that he's getting shafted._

       _He's not stupid, he already knows. Explaining it to Sunlight is the impossible part._

      Corridors and security checks and elevators and more corridors. It only felt like it took forever. Sam was chatting brightly to Sunlight, trying to interest her in a shopping expedition tomorrow, but Sunlight had reverted to her subdued state and showed little interest. If he was any judge, she was tired, stressed out and heading for either tears or a tantrum.

      "Sunlight, how about I give you a shoulder ride?"

      Taking silence as assent, he swung her up and took long strides down the corridor while she held silently on to his hands.

      

      

"I'm sorry, Major." Janet lifted her head from the microscope. "The cell tests were both positive. Neither you nor Cassandra can remain here for long."

      Watching Maybourne's back, Cassandra caught the flinch of his shoulders, saw him straighten and turn and smooth his expression into a cynical half-smile. Catching her eye, he glanced at Janet and Davis still looking at the microscope slides, then gave a slight shrug.

      For the first time since she'd entered this reality, she experienced a sense of connection to him. _You can't talk to me, can you? Not in front of other people. Are you ashamed of what you feel for me? Is that why you keep being nasty? Or is it that you can't face saying 'goodbye'?_

       _I won't know if you don't tell me._

       _I'm just as bad. I haven't even said 'thank you' for saving my life._

      "Colonel Maybourne." Even to speak a few words was draining.

      He raised a silent eyebrow.

      "I would like to thank you," she said formally, "for saving my life." Embarrassment coiled inside her. She felt as though she were exposing her inmost feelings to Teal'c and her mom and everyone else there. Harry just looked bored, but she knew better than to trust whatever expression happened to be on his face.

      "Thanks may be premature."

       _I thought men were supposed to go all romantic when someone they loved was dying? Is this how you cope instead? Or is it guilt?_

      She looked him in the eye. "Even if I die, it's still what I wanted. Being Nirrti's host..."

      He gave a short, tight nod of understanding.

      " _Harr_ _y_."

      Cassandra looked around in surprise to see Sunlight in the doorway, riding on her father's shoulders.

      "Princess!" Harry's face broadened into a wide, open smile. "Come here." He reached up to catch her as she tumbled down from Jack's shoulders into his arms.

      "I thought she ought to..." Jack said awkwardly. "You know."

      "Understood. How long do we have?"

      "Half an hour, but I can stretch it a bit."

      Harry nodded, the same sharp nod he'd just given her, but she knew she was missing some of the meaning. From the way Harry held Sunlight, he obviously wanted to be with her, but something was wrong. Sunlight was clinging to Harry like she was afraid he'd vanish, and Harry was way too tense.

      "Colonel?" Mom managed to pack a wealth of question into the word, starting with 'Do you trust your daughter with that man' running all the way to... Actually, she wasn't sure what.

      "Long story," Jack said shortly. "Doc, could you alter Sunlight's medical records to show Maybourne as next of kin after myself and Carter. List him as her godfather."

      Harry glanced up sharply. "What do you want?"

      "Why should I want something?"

      "Because you just did something for me."

      "Why assume everyone is as manipulative as you are?"

      "Experience. What do you want?"

      Jack sighed. "Silence. Or better yet, some way of explaining your arrival in the SGC that keeps everyone's neck out of the noose."

      "Don't you think-" Harry began in a low, dangerous voice, then caught himself as Sunlight squirmed in his arms and whimpered. 

      "Christ crucified, Jack. You really did learn to fight dirty."

      Was this Harry's world? One in which nothing was done without an ulterior motive? How could he live, viewing everyone's actions through that kind of filter?

      "I want an hour," he said. "I'd ask for longer, but Sunlight will be too tired. Svenska's several hours ahead of Earth; it's evening for her already.

      "She missed Cassandra a lot. Leave the three of us alone for a while and I'll make sure Sunlight doesn't touch any of the medical equipment."

       _When Jack called you manipulative, he understated it. Does he even realise what you want?_

       _Do I want to be alone with you?_

       _Do I want to say goodbye to Sunlight?_

       _Yes and no to both._

      "Agreed," Jack said.

      "Not agreed," Janet said. "This is my infirmary and I need to keep an eye on my patient. Cassandra will need continual monitoring. She could go into shock; she may need to be put onto a ventilator; and I have to monitor the level of toxin in her blood to see if the symbiote is having any impact."

      Suiting action to words, she went to take a small sample from the tube carrying blood back from the symbiote to Cassandra.

      "I'll let you know the result as soon as I've carried out a comparison."

      "Mom." Cassandra held out a hand to touch her mother's wrist. "Give us as much space as you can. Sunlight looks pretty tired. Too many people will just stress her out. I want to say a proper goodbye to her, before I have to say goodbye to you."

       _Now who's being manipulative?_

      "I love you too, honey."

      "Mom!" _Don't embarrass me._ __

"You may be sixteen, but you're still my daughter, and I still love you."

      From behind Janet's shoulder, she could see Harry grinning. _Bastard. To Hell with him._

      "I love you too, Mom. Even when I bitch at you, I still love you."

      Janet squeezed her hand gently, then, holding the blood sample carefully, she headed towards her equipment and Harry slid neatly into the space she'd vacated. He didn't say anything. just looked at her with a calculating expression while he sat down and settled Sunlight onto his knee.

      "No," she said. "Whatever you're going to ask, the answer's 'no'."

      "Wouldn't dream of it. Well, maybe. You can't fault a man for dreaming."

      With a look of concern, Sunlight reached out a tentative hand towards the needle inserted in the back of her hand.

      "It's medicine," Cassandra said. "I was very ill, but I'm going to get better."

      "Is the angel helping?"

      "Yes," Harry said, adding as an aside, "they're all Tok'ra to her."

      Tok'ra... Again, she had the feeling that there was another symbiote somewhere, one that Nirrti had despised and occasionally thought about experimenting on. A Tok'ra - an important Tok'ra.

      Harry shifted in his chair, cradling Sunlight against his arm. This close, Cassandra could see the lines of weariness in his face. He looked older, more drawn, and the fingers of his right hand were never quite still. They twisted endlessly round one another and drew circles on the leg of his pants.

      Catching the direction of her gaze, he stopped.

      "I'm no good at goodbyes."

      Sunlight picked up on the tone of his voice. "Harry?"

      "I've got a job up north, Princess. I'm going to be a teacher."

      "What?" said Cassandra. The idea was ridiculous.

      "I thought you knew?"

      Knew? The idea was crazy. Harry was Air Force. He was... And then it finally clicked. He was an escaped prisoner on an Air Force base. She'd had the clues, simply hadn't put them together. He was saying goodbye to Sunlight as well as herself.

      Did they allow children to visit maximum security prisons? Would Harry want Sunlight to visit him there even if Jack was able to bring her? There was so much she wanted to say, but there was Sunlight's presence to consider.

      "I think you'll be an excellent teacher," she said firmly. "Won't he, Sunlight?"

      Sunlight nodded and began to suck the joint of her thumb.

      Harry winced. "Would you like me to tell you a story?"

      Before Sunlight could reply, they were quietly interrupted by Janet.

      "I thought you'd like to know," she said, "the symbiote is definitely absorbing some of the toxin. If it carries on absorbing at this rate, you should be safe to go home well within Major Davis's deadline."

      "Thank you, Doctor."

      She knew Harry meant it, but it didn't exactly come across as effusive. It was as though Maybourne's world revolved around rank; he couldn't show weakness to anyone lower down the system. _And I think, maybe, you're clinging all the harder to that because you're about to lose it all._

      "Call me if you need me," Mom said, and returned to her studies on the other side of the infirmary, far enough away to allow a degree of privacy, but close enough to still be a chaperone. _And how do I feel about that? Grateful, or not?_

      "Story," Sunlight said.

      "Okay, boss." Harry pursed his lips in thought. "Here's one out of the book your dad gave me. It's called 'Othello'."

      "We're doing that one at school," Cassandra said.

      "Then you can help me if I get stuck.

      "Once upon a time, there was a city called Venice, and in it there lived a man called Brabanzio. Now, Brabanzio had a beautiful daughter; she had long dark hair and brown eyes. Many men came to court her, but she refused them all.

      "One day, an evil man called Iago came to Brabanzio and told him that his daughter was-

      "Cassie, I find myself in need of a suitable euphemism...

      "What for?"

      Was he hiding a grin? "'Making the beast with two backs.'"

      She struggled with the unfamiliar Shakespearian phrase, then blushed as she worked it out.

      "Why not do Romeo and Juliet instead?" There wasn't any actual sex in that, was there? And she hadn't actually done anything with Harry. Not really. "We studied that last year."

      Now he was definitely amused. "You want me to promote under-age sex? Juliet was fourteen."

      "She wasn't!"

      Harry stroked a finger across his beard. "Your teacher appears to have missed out all the interesting bits."

      "You're just getting at me because of what I put in my diary."

      "Ah. Guilty." He bit at his lower lip. "Did Davis...?"

      She nodded.

      He said quietly: "Then you know what I need to know."

      She knew. But it was hard to find ways of saying it. And there were things she needed to know as well, and they were just as hard. How did you discuss something like statutory rape in front of a four-year old?

      Sunlight was quiet, and the quietness bothered her. She and Harry had dragged the conversation far away from the story and Sunlight wasn't complaining. It might just be tiredness, but the way Sunlight clung tight to Harry's arm suggested fear. Was she afraid Harry would leave her, if she complained? Harry wasn't much better; his eyes might be on Cassandra, but his hand rested on Sunlight's. He was too tense in the way he sat and he kept making small fidgety movements. Was he worried about the diary, about Sunlight, about going to prison, about... Okay, it could be the whole lot. If flirting with her helped him forget for a minute or two...

      It wasn't fair. _She_ had things she wanted to forget too. She'd been host to a Goa'uld.

      And if she asked for his support, he'd give it. He'd given more than that already. _So tell him, but tell him in a way that protects Sunlight as much as possible._

      "Iago told Desdemona's father that she'd been kissing Othello, that they'd been sleeping together. He was very rude about it, because he knew Brabanzio would hate the idea. Othello was a soldier and in command of all the armies of Venice, but he was much older than Desdemona and he was black. In those days, black men were considered to be ugly and inferior, instead of strong and handsome like Teal'c."

      "Hey," Harry protested, "when did Teal'c get into this story?"

      In spite of the nausea, she smiled.

      "Othello and Desdemona were summoned before the city council. Othello was an honourable man - he told them that he had married Desdemona."

      "Moot point," said Harry. "He'd married her without her father's consent. Was that legal? And she didn't ask her father's permission either, which means she knew he wouldn't give it."

      How come Harry always had a way of twisting things round? Surely Othello had acted honourably when he married Desdemona? He was the good guy.

      "What if he didn't know whether it was legal or not?" she asked.

      "What if he didn't give a toss for the law and simply considered her an adult woman capable of making up her own mind, regardless of what anyone else told her she could or couldn't do?"

      He never made it easy for her, never would. She was too tired and queasy to work it all through.

      She sank wearily back against the pillows. "You never tell me what the right answer is."

      "You're worth more than that. People I can manipulate are two a penny. You're independent-minded enough to reach your own conclusions."

      "I think Nirrti drained all that out of me."

      Harry shook his head. "You underestimate yourself. When you know what you really want, you won't let anything get in your way."

       _What I want is for you to put your arm around my shoulders, and lie to me and tell me everything's all right._

       _I want to be well, and to walk in the sunshine with you, and talk to you and argue and laugh with you._

       _I want time to understand my own feelings, to try and figure out why you're so important to me._

       _I want to look at you and fix your face forever in my memory, because I don't want to forget you._

       _I want to give you back something of what you've given me._

      He was looking at her, with haunted eyes that spoke of too many trials. What had the Aesir done to him? She knew what had to be said, but it was still so hard to say, so hard to expose herself to him.

      "When I went to Washington," she began, "I had time to spare, so I went to visit the Jefferson Memorial."

      "Lisa Simpson?"

      "What? Oh yes. She went there when she needed to think. I needed to try and sort things out in my head. I couldn't bear the idea that you'd lied to me; it hurt so much. You'd let me get close to you..." She looked down at the bed, not wanting to meet his eye. "You'd shared part of yourself with me - I couldn't bear the idea that you... I can't explain it properly."

      "Lies create barriers," he said quietly. "Which probably explains why people in my line of business have so few real friends."

      "Anyway, I sat down and looked out at the view. And I thought of you. It was as though you were sitting there beside me - and you needed me. That was the crazy thing: I was sitting there being mad at you, and you were there sitting next to me."

      She looked up. "It was the flowers that made me forgive you. So many people had died; but if you hadn't come, there would have been so many more. So, I stopped being mad at you, because you'd cared about all those people, and I missed you so much, and... And then the men came, and..."

      His hand wrapped warmly around hers, and she closed her eyes and focused on the physicality of his touch. He was solid, and he was real, and she needed him. She was content to simply lie back and let the tiredness take her, knowing that she was safe because he was there.

      

      "Colonel Maybourne."

      Cassandra opened her eyes in shock. The speaker was a tall, broad-shouldered major with two airmen at his side. "You will accompany us."

      "Quiet," Harry said. "You'll wake Sunlight."

      Sunlight was asleep? How could she possibly have fallen asleep? How long had they been sitting there?

      Harry slid his hand discreetly from hers, and looked around him, easily finding Jack who stood there looking tall and embarrassed.

      "Take her," Harry said quietly. "If you're lucky, we can do it without waking her."

      Jack slid an arm under Harry's and took Sunlight's weight, while gently disentangling hands and arms. Sunlight stirred, but settled into a new position without waking.

      "Make sure she gets my letters," Harry said, with an odd note in his voice.

      "Sure, Harry. I'll do that." Jack didn't sound any more comfortable than Harry did.

      "Colonel Maybourne." Low-voiced, but unmistakably an order.

      Harry walked over with a quiet dignity that made her ache for him. What was it costing him to be arrested in front of everyone he knew? Because they were all there now: Sam, Daniel, Teal'c, even her mother and Davis. Maybe they meant well, but she had a sense of his pride and suspected he would rather have been alone.

      She bit her lip, trying hard not to let too much show. If she broke down, she had a nasty feeling that Harry might lose it. She couldn't do that to him, expose him to the derision of strangers.

      The Major gestured for him to spread his arms. Anger flashed in his eyes for an instant, before he submitted quietly to the search. Hands patted arms and legs, and checked pockets with casual expertise.

      With brusque efficiency, they cuffed his hands, and she felt a sharp stab of pain on his behalf.

      They'd taken him away from her already. A calculating, emotionless stranger looked out of Harry's eyes and she no longer knew him.

      The airman who'd searched Harry tossed something small, blue and furry into the air, and in that split instant she felt it-

       _Harry, no!_

      The violent swing arrested itself in mid-motion and Harry froze, breathing ragged, hands trembling, caught on some precipitous cusp between madness and sanity.

      No one else reacted. It was as thought the two of them were the only people in the room. Even Sunlight slumbered on, untroubled by the cry.

      Because no one had heard her; no one except Harry...

      Her mind was running round and round like a hamster on a treadmill, catching on random fragments of memory and tossing them together in a pile.

       _General Maybourne survived Nirrti's plague; I always knew he had to be a freak._

       _Sometimes, when I was alone and needed you, I felt as though you were there._

       _When I screamed for help, Davis didn't hear me, but you did._

       _What kind of freak are you?_

       _Can you hear me now?_

      There was no recognition in his face, only bewilderment.

      "Cassie?"

      "Colonel," she sought carefully for the words, trying to tell him, without stripping away what little privacy he had remaining. "You remember when you said you thought Nirrti's virus just enhanced a skill I already had?"

      His eyes struggled to focus on her.

      "I guess maybe you're right. I mean, I could just use it, but I had to learn to walk and to ride a bike, and so how could I do magnet things straight off unless I'd somehow used them a tiny bit before? It's like, imagine someone was a little bit of a telepath and the ability would only work if someone was really shouting at them or it was really important for them to hear." _Do you hear me because you're in love with me?_

      "Maybe I've always had the skill a tiny bit, and I've leant to use it without even realising it. So, if I want to do something, then maybe it's enough just to want to do it." She struggled to find the words. "Like, if I walk, I don't need to know what muscles I'm using. I just do it.

      "The thing is, I want to stay here. I have to stay here." _I have to, because I can't abandon you._

      "Mom, can you try the cell test again? It has to work, because I can't face going back again." She let her face show all her emotion, in the sure knowledge that it would be misconstrued. "I was a host, and I think I'm remembering some of what Nirrti knew. They'll never leave me alone. Never."

      "What sort of things?" Harry said, and that was odd, because it didn't bother her, and it should have done.

      He was the one of all of them whose duplicate would have threatened her for that knowledge, intimidated her and badgered her until she was nothing more than a nervous shadow of her own self.

      Harry asked the question as a way of balancing himself. It gave him the illusion of being in control and it gave him contact with her.

      She barely noticed Janet taking another blood sample; she was focused on Harry, trying to help him find the calm he needed to survive. If she was calm, then maybe he'd pick up on that. Did he read emotions? Was he a telepath or an empath? Both? Neither?

      "When I look at the symbiote," she gestured at the tank, "it reminds me of another captive Goa'uld. She's in a jar or something and she's Tok'ra, and Nirrti hates her."

       **"She?"**

      She'd forgotten about Kantele.

      "Yes, I think she's a queen. Is it important?"

       **_"Egeria."_ **

      It was the way he said it, as though every hope of his entire race was bound up in that single word.

      "Egeria?" said Teal'c. "She could be the difference between extinction and survival for my people."

      "Peace," said Daniel. "If anyone can bring human, Jaffa and Tok'ra together in a common cause, it would be Egeria.

      Sam looked thoughful, hopeful and scared all at once, but Cassandra barely had eyes for any of them, she was watching Harry, watching the hope flare bright in his eyes. __

_'When you know what you really want, you won't let anything get in your way.'_

       _We've learnt from one another haven't we? Maybe I had an influence on you in some way, gave you the chance to bring out the better side of your nature, but I think I've absorbed something from you too - when you really want something, you don't play by the rules._

      "Where is she?" Jack asked.

      She watched the slow, knowing smile spread across Harry's face, the smile of a teacher discovering an unexpected prize pupil.

       _You're a bastard, but you're my bastard and I love you._

      Janet was saying something from the other side of the room, but it barely registered. She belonged in this reality now, didn't need the negative test result to tell her what her body's instinct already knew.

      "Where is she?" asked Daniel.

      "I'll tell you," Cassandra said, "when Colonel Maybourne has a full presidential pardon."


	16. Epilogue

Sunlight has a letter every day from Harry and he always tells her he loves her (she is still too young to be surprised at the unusual reliability of the mail, nor to notice the changes in handwriting style). Daddy loves her and so does Kantele. Mommy loves her, even though she forgot Sunlight's favourite flavour of yoghurt yesterday.

      The world seems a little odd now and then, but by and large it's also starting to feel a little safer.

 

 

Kantele struggles with fantasy. He has always loved the children of his hosts, never believed that offspring of his own would be possible. Egeria's name sings to him and he writes endless songs in her praise. He tries not to pressurise Sam, but every time he looks at her...

 

 

She knows. Kantele has never asked her, but he wants her to offer herself as host to Egeria. It ought to be so simple a thing. Tok'ra meets Tok'ra; everyone loves everyone; happiness all round. But she has been a host before and it's not something she wants to try again.

      Being a Tok'ra is like taking on a blind date with no chance of backing out if you don't like the look of your partner. Jack and Kantele were lucky.

 

 

 Cassandra shares a room with her sister. They tell everyone they're twins and that her adoptive mother died recently and so she came here. It's an easy tale to tell - after all that part of it is true. She uses the name Desdemona now, and is surprised that no one has asked her why.

      She's increasingly bothered by bad dreams. Something is wrong with Harry. Something is very wrong...

 

 

Maybourne dreams, but tonight his dreams are all nightmares. The man in the cell to his right killed his wife and relives it in horrific detail. The prisoner to his left claims to be innocent, but Maybourne knows just how he dissected the body. The next man along is due to die in a month, but he has committed no crime

      Images and memories assault him relentlessly and he can't keep them out. The fever burns and chills him alternately. He begs them to contact Doctor Fraiser, but they tell him it's just flu and nothing to worry about. He knows better. Soon, it will get worse. The voices in his mind will take over and he will die.

      Life's final bitter irony: the same blood that saved his life will kill him. Nirrti's virus still lurks in Cassandra's blood. Engineered to pass down the generations and lie dormant until puberty, it is now in Maybourne's veins - and he is a long way past sixteen.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the end of the second volume, and is as far as I have written.
> 
> I have the basic plot of a third volume in my head, but it will take me at least six months to write it.
> 
> Is it worth me trying to do it?
> 
> The central theme of the plot would be twofold, Egeria and Anubis.
> 
> Can Egeria be rescued and will she find a host?
> 
> How can Anubis be fought?
> 
> It would carry on the stories of all the current characters and try to ensure they all have a relevant role to play.
> 
> In essence, if I get enough kudos/comments/requests to write it, then I'll give it a stab. If there's only a couple of people interested, then I'll write a book on English folk dance instead. (I'll get just as much fun out of that and might even be able to sell a few copies)
> 
> So, let me know what you think.


End file.
